


Where Gods Lose Their Way

by Dizzydodo



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Kink Meme, Multi, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Star Trek: Into Darkness Spoilers, Tropes, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-09 14:25:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 75,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1986345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dizzydodo/pseuds/Dizzydodo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>In a world where everyone has the name of their soulmate on their wrist, Khan's wrist was empty while he was conquering earth. But after Marcus wakes him up the name 'Leonard' has appeared. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> <br/>A fill for the above prompt, complete with an exploration of one of my favorite tropes and plenty of angst and smut to go around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> http://strek-id-kink.livejournal.com/2836.html?thread=1628948#t1628948
> 
> The link to the original prompt is above, and while some parts are posted there, the version posted here will differ both in terms of editing and pacing.

Hearing was the first sense to return. Voices dancing at the very edge of his consciousness, low and high tones blending into a cacophony of speech but the words they spoke were just beyond understanding. Khan fought to turn his head toward the sound, offer an assurance that he was alive and well; he could hear the steady beat of his heart and the blood rushing through his ears as strong as ever. His muscles were uncooperative, unused to obeying commands after languishing so long.

His eyelids were heavy but with some effort he forced them open, blinking rapidly at sudden light; sensation returned even as his fingers began to twitch, nerves reawakening with agonizing slowness. He could feel cool metal just beneath him as he turned his face to the being standing closest. Human male, approximately sixty-five years. Most importantly, he wasn't crew. When the unknown stretched an overbold hand toward his arm, Khan reached for the frail wrist, intending to crush it in his grip-

Only to find it was clamped in a restraint. This one was not entirely a lost cause.

"Khan Noonien Singh?"

There was reverence in the spoken name, a shade of fear coloring the man's otherwise demanding tone, and well there should be; his reputation for ruthlessness in an age when no mercy was expected had not been easily earned. It was not hard to divine the cause for that distinct undertone of satisfaction, but the restraints could only be temporary measures; he was more of a danger than this creature would credit.

"Yes." He intoned, fighting the stiffness of his own tongue while watching the eyes above him brighten with ill-concealed excitement. This man was not half the professional he sought to portray.

"Admiral Alexander Marcus. Welcome back to the land of the living." Accompanied by a smile brimming with false warmth and containing entirely too many teeth.

Khan mirrored the expression, already rapidly assimilating the available data from his environment: medical facility, obviously. From the absence of any noisy feedback and the relatively few number of personnel he could feel hovering just beyond his sight, it was likely a private facility. He must have been asleep for some time, that uniform indicated a rank he was unfamiliar with. 'Federation' implied a level of organization the non-enhanced hadn't even begun to aspire to, scattered as they were in myriad cells at the time of his downfall.

"Admiral of which fleet?" He enunciated sharply, caught the brief flash of uncertainty across features clearly unaccustomed to contorting in such a way.

"All of that will be explained later. The first, and only, thing you need to understand now is-" Marcus leaned forward, biting out his words, "I own you."

It took a minute for Khan to recognize the barking growl in his throat for laughter, but his body fairly shook with mirth, mouth curving into a genuine smile that had the petty admiral taking a step back.

"I doubt it." He murmured, turning his head to lock gazes with his captor. "Tell me, Alexander, do you have anything stronger than these restraints?" A threatening groan sounded as they were painstakingly separated from the slab on which he lay.

"I have your crew." Marcus shot back, a snarl replacing his falsely genial smile. Khan immediately ceased in his efforts to free himself, lying still and pliant once more.

It was obvious from his arrogant sneer Marcus knew exactly what that meant. If it had truly been as long as it seemed since he was first consigned to his eternal sleep, then sparse records probably existed detailing the bond he shared with his men and women; one that linked them closer than family.

"I suppose you are about to propose an exchange for their release?" Khan stretched insolently, baring his vulnerabilities without a hint of the anxiety Marcus had doubtless expected to see.

Marcus hesitated a second longer, possessed of some foreboding that warned him once these words were spoken they could never be called back. Still, he knew his duty.

"The Federation is prepared to offer you their lives in exchange for services to be detailed at a later date."

Clandestine, then, deeds kept from the censure of the public eye. It would be terribly awkward for Marcus and his colleagues if word of this agreement were leaked, but given the history of his own crew, would it necessarily benefit him to attempt it?

Khan licked his lips, spoke softly, compelling the fool to lean closer in order to catch his muffled words. He could not know how very subservient it appeared, the theoretical superior bowing over the bed of his captive.

"I had expected better from someone of your rank, admiral; cornered animals are known to fight hardest. We are, at our base, no better than they."

"You're very articulate for a man just waking from a couple centuries of sleep-"

Centuries. There was every chance the records of his time were incomplete or flawed, an advantage he intended to exploit when he brought this man and his superiors to their knees for this assault.

"Can I release you, or are you going to give me trouble?"

_Oh yes, certainly._

"No." He nodded to the restraints tightly, unresisting when they were finally released. Khan sat up gingerly, dismissing the ringing in his ears and the brief wave of nausea sudden movement sent through him.

He noted the men on either side of the doorway, armed with implements whose use wasn't difficult to divine. It would take some experimentation to see how vulnerable he was to their effects, but all in good time; for now he focused on appearing as non-threatening as possible.

As he moved to fold his hands passively in his lap, Khan's eye was caught by a flash of darkness at his wrist, something new and unexpected.

It can't be.

It took every ounce of his not-inconsiderable discipline to keep from gaping openly at his precious gift before a foe who would certainly exploit it in the same manner as his crew.

Carefully he turned his wrist in toward himself and fixed his eyes on a point just beyond the admiral's shoulder, hearing his words but unable to make any sense of them, caught as he was in the grip of a rapidly burgeoning euphoria.

There is yet a shred of light, even in the darkest of hours. Many of the ancient sages and philosophers had said as much.

Khan Noonien Singh had never been a man to credit such trite homilies, and yet to be given this opportunity now, when his crew was held from him by a man determined to use the blood that flowed in his veins for purposes as yet unknown…

At that moment, Khan made peace with his fate, and in some corner of his spirit offered quiet thanks for this promise, even as his mind was consumed by the obstacle that Admiral Marcus presented in the rescue of his crew.

He would use Marcus as he was in turn used. In the end, his victory was assured; he would have his crew, his vengeance, and his mate.

 

 

 

Khan trailed silently behind his captor, noting the tense set of the man's shoulders, the tempo of his steps increased each time the distance between them narrowed by the merest centimeter. Even with two 'security' officers trailing close behind, weapons in hand and obviously prepared, this man feared the monster he had woken. What manner of man would be so foolish or so desperate that he would threaten the devil himself?

He could make use of that fear later, play upon it until Marcus' mind was filled with thoughts of how to subdue and control his weapon, leaving him vulnerable to a more subtle method of control.

That was certainly the most appealing option, but hardly to his tactical advantage at this early stage. Unfamiliar as he was with this time and its customs, it would be best to wait and make use of whatever sparing resources Marcus chose to allot him in the name of cooperation. The more information he could collect, the easier it would be to disappear when the time came to put his plans into motion.

Several key differences were already blindingly apparent; social mores had been altered in ways he might not have noticed save for the change in his own unique circumstances: they all covered their marks.

Everyone from the nurse that had stepped meekly aside as he strode from the room where he had first awoken to Admiral Marcus himself, had covered their wrists so that no hint of their Designations would show.

Khan wondered idly if it was a result of the secretive nature of their profession or if the practice had become standard in this Brave New World.

In his time those marks would have been proudly displayed; the circumstances were rare indeed that anyone would voluntarily hide their Designation from even the most inimical eyes. Only Nulls felt any need to hide their wrists, covering their bare skin to hide their shame, their unworthiness made plain as the mark that never manifested.

Most Augments had been Nulls, given strength and cunning that far outstripped their unaltered peers, but left without the brand most considered to be the not only the right, but the defining characteristic of humanity.

A handful of enterprising zealots had been quick to seize the opportunity, claiming that the greater percentage of Augmented Nulls as opposed to "natural" Nulls was proof positive they were abominations that fell outside the natural order.

Their reasoning was positively medieval. Indeed, there had been a time when Nulls were viciously persecuted, their bare flesh seen as a mark of God's disfavor or even a sign of a pact with the devil. Of course, the radicals' message had been suitably adapted so as not to offend modern sensibilities, but their underlying belief remained the same: it was a harbinger of the fall of the Human race- the blight would have to be destroyed wherever it was found lest the malady were passed on to future generations.

One unintentional outcome of the drastic stance was how much simpler it had become to convince Augments that an alliance was in their favor. With the Naturals snapping at their heels and their own innate superiority ready to betray them at any moment, most Augments had seen the wisdom of keeping to their own kind.

Once they were united in purpose it was a simple task to shift from a defensive strategy to an all-out offensive designed to purge the earth of inferior stock, those Augments or Naturals who stood in the way of progress.

It had taken years of careful planning, skillful diplomacy, and ruthless cunning, but it had all been worth it when at last he had found himself the unchallenged governor of the greatest territory yet established by any Augment. With his small crew, Khan had swiftly instituted measures designed to curb revolt and foster an attitude of reverence in those he had spared- those that had surrendered, those that had proved too stupid or too meek to attempt rebellion or that had seen the hand of progress in his work.

Justice had been hard to come by in those days, but he had tried to craft an equitable system where Augments and Naturals could dwell in relative harmony; peace led to prosperity, and prosperity to advancement.

The sheer number of them though! Naturals bred like rabbits, and no amount of the mandatory sterilization campaigns or careful elimination of Designated pairs carried out by his peers had prevented their spread. For all the Augments' superior wits and strength, the Naturals had an army at their command, and once it had occurred to them to unite beneath a single banner and act as one rather than engaging in unorganized guerrilla warfare, it had spelled the end of a dawning age.

Eventually even Khan had been forced to flee and his loyal advisers with him, all of them swiftly disposed of like so much rubbish; presumably few records of the true magnitude of their works remained.

In retrospect, that was all to the better; any part of himself he could keep from Marcus might yet prove useful. The man could not be expected to defend against an enemy he only half understood.

"You will be quartered here."

Khan snapped into the present easily, betraying no sign of his preoccupation. Marcus had gestured to a small room, spartan in decoration and conspicuously lacking in anything that might be fashioned into a conventional weapon.

A bed, a table, a chair. All bolted to the floor, all rounded and without any sharp edges, even the sheets had been stripped from the bed. Did the admiral expect him to hang himself in a fit of despair? How little he knew his prey. At least there appeared to be a change of clothing laid out on the bed; he could hardly do worse than to be dressed as he was now.

"Adequate."

Khan permitted himself a flash of pleasure at the frustration writ plain on Marcus' face; apparently the man had been expecting a protest, something considerably more grand than the single word he had been offered.

"Change, then you will meet me in my office; I'll leave these two to escort you." Marcus gestured briskly to his lap dogs, panting eagerly at the thought of being left alone to perform this insignificant duty. Discipline must be a virtue sorely lacking in the admiral's vaunted fleet if his underlings were so transparent as this.

"We have a few matters to discuss before I'm ready to clear you for transfer."

Khan hummed noncommittally, stepping into his temporary quarters with no break in stride and waiting patiently for the door to hiss shut behind him before he dared glance again at that telling mark emblazoned across his inner wrist.

For a moment he couldn't bring himself to do more than stare in disbelief; his composure was shaken so thoroughly that he allowed his free hand to reach for the firm support of the solitary table in the room.

It was pure superstition, the belief that some higher entity decided whether a person was worthy of being granted a Designation, the gift of another being perfectly matched to their every cutting edge and ringing hollow. It was a child's fantasy to believe that anyone was born incomplete, craving some external element to be acquired later in life. It was the purest romantic drivel, fodder for insipid bedtime stories, to lend any credence to the idea that a man could ache for someone he had never known.

Yet the evidence was here before his eyes, etched deeply into his flesh for anyone to see. Khan could feel it burning there, taunting him with possibilities he had never even dared to consider.

A mate. A match. A perfect equal, here in this time when Augments were no more than a long-forgotten legend, probably bogeymen used to send recalcitrant children scurrying for their beds. The idea was at once too shocking to contemplate and too immediate to ignore.

Worse, it felt right that it should be there, now that he stood on such uncertain ground striving to ascertain which role he must assume to attain his ends. The mark was a lifeline, an indelible promise that his defeat had been preordained those many lifetimes ago, and that victory was yet in his grasp.

If he and his crew had not been consigned to stasis and left adrift for the first ship that happened across them, he would have lived and died incomplete- always something less than whole, a broken tool though he never would have known it.

That had all been changed by some twist of fate he hardly dared question even in the privacy of his own thoughts.

With an effort Khan pushed aside his wild imaginings, the sudden ache of sheer need he'd never credited, the bone-deep regret at the precious time that was already wasted.

It took more than a little effort to focus every shred of concentration on the business ahead. If he did not step carefully now, he would lose any chance of ever finding that perfect complement, and any chance of bringing this new Federation to its knees before them.

One final fanciful thought, only a pipe-dream to dull the edge of suffering unfurling within this new emptiness. When he had resurrected his family, when he had shaken this corrupt union to its very foundations and brought it tumbling down into the dust, he would seek out his missing half at last and lay the pitiful remnants at his feet. Then Khan knew he would finally be worthy of the gift only now afforded him.

It was an unparalleled opportunity, and he intended to seize ruthless hold of it. But first there was much to learn, beginning with how much Marcus knew of him and what he could expect in the days to come.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Hey, Bones! You coming or not?"

'Bones' McCoy took a breath, held it for a moment as he counted down the many reasons he owed Jim Kirk a favor… otherwise known as every reason he mustn't toss his nosy captain out the nearest airlock the next time they drew scouting duty.

"Not. We've been over this-"

"I was hoping you might have changed your mind." Jim smiled hopefully, leaning farther into the cozy office. "Uhura's been telling me about this club that just opened downtown-"

"My answer is still no. I promised Jocelyn we'd talk tonight, not that it's any of your damn business-"

"So talk to Jocelyn then join me. Have a few drinks, maybe a dance," Jim wiggled his eyebrows dramatically, "Make nice with the locals."

"Damn it, Jim, take a hint. I'm two weeks behind on these reports and all I want is a single night in to deal with it. You make nice with the fucking locals, or is it the other way around?"

If Jim noticed the strain beneath his smile he was good enough not to comment on it. After years of friendship he had finally reached that point where he could tell when it would be best to back off and drop the argument. Whether he actually chose to do so was still at fifty/fifty odds.

Leonard could see Jim's natural bossiness warring with his common sense, there was a fair bit of worry mixed in too- Goddammit. When was Jim going to learn it was his CMO's job to fret over the welfare of the crew, his own included?

Common sense won out by a small but telling margin; Jim inclined his head in resignation, but he was still visibly concerned. "I'll keep my comm on me, in case you change your mind or anything. Just let me know." A hopeful smile, slightly abashed.

"Sure thing, Jim. Now if you'll kindly get going, I'll give Jocelyn a call and get back to my work."

"No need to tell me twice." Jim ducked out of the room before Leonard had the chance to inform him that he had in fact been told three times, but the fourth time had been the charm.

He waited a moment, listening for the click of boots in the hallway, making sure Jim was really leaving rather than waiting in ambush. A moment longer and he settled comfortably into his chair, bringing up the view screen to enter Jocelyn's personal I.D.

It was only a moment before she answered, still smiling over some joke she would doubtless share with him if he dared to ask, but he didn't. Not now.

"Leonard, you're late." That smile was just for him- fondly exasperated, the sort of smile an old friend might offer another after a long and unexpected absence.

"Nothing new on that front, at least."

The wryness in his voice earned him a snicker; was a time she would have lit into him something fierce for daring to be even a minute behind her schedule. Clay's easygoing manners were rubbing off on her for the better.

"Where's Jim? I thought he'd be hovering again."

"I shooed him off; he's probably already found himself prettier company for the night. In fact I'd wager my last credit on it." He grinned, inviting her to share in his amusement, but the sudden twist of her features warned him he had said exactly the wrong thing and now he was going to be treated to another specialty of Jocelyn's: helpful nagging.

"I was starting to think you two must be joined at the hip. Why aren't you out with him?"

"Bad form to leave a lady hanging, I told him you and I had a date." His attempt at humor fell far short if her deepening frown was anything to go by. His frustration only grew when she answered in that soft, cajoling tone she had only ever used when she thought he was being pigheaded.

"Leonard, you'll never find him if you keep hiding in your quarters or taking on extra duties every time you have a chance to get out. You should have let me know you were going with Jim-" Sometimes he regretted ever showing her his Designation, not that he'd had much of a choice what with the two of them being married and all.

"God damn it, Jocelyn. Can't you leave it alone? I don't recall you objecting so much when I proposed, different marks and all."

"That was different. I didn't know-"

"And I don't care." Leonard sighed, slumping down in his chair, the weight of years worth of disapproval resting heavy on his shoulders once again. "I wish you wouldn't bring this up."

Once Jocelyn had been of the same mind as he. Neither one of them had given half a damn that some birthmark supposedly dictated their One True Love or Soulmate- the bullshit propaganda that blasted them from all sides. Destiny wasn't written plainly in the stars, why would it be engraved on anyone's skin?

The Nullification movement had been at its height then, decrying their slogan of Solitude Is Strength. Leonard had never been much of an activist himself, and with catch-phrases like that he could be forgiven for thinking most of the Nulls must be crackpots, but he had appreciated the message that he was worth something as an individual. Particularly when everyone around him was convinced they were no better than one of a pair, somehow unfinished without that mystical 'other half'.

Senior year in high school and Leonard was one of the few students that didn't waste his time wondering when his 'chosen' was going to come bounding in with a rousing fanfare to sweep him off his feet; the very idea made his skin crawl with uneasiness. Coincidentally, Leonard had found another that shared his distaste for childlike delusions; one surprisingly graceful dance and a laughing conversation later, Jocelyn and he had been fast friends.

A few weeks of taking refuge in each other's company and they had decided to try their hands at something more.

One by one they had stood by and watched as friends found their partners. They deflected well-meant advice and stoutly ignored the superior looks from those that knew their Designations didn't match. Leonard had proposed fresh out of medical school, and Jocelyn hadn't hesitated to accept.

They had both dismissed the disapproval and occasional vitriol thrown their way when someone noted that their Designations did not align.

There was precedent for marriage between those not 'designed' for each other; even now there were the odd cases of Nulls whose marks never appeared. They were reviled by purists and practically worshiped by the Nullification movement that had taken their name for a rallying cry. There had even been cases of Nulls marrying those that carried a Designation; nevertheless, it had caused something of a stir both in the McCoy family and the Darnells when he had dared to present Jocelyn as his intended.

Selfish, his mother had called him. Jocelyn's parents weren't much better, telling her she was bound to come around and wouldn't it be a shame if she met her Designated after she was tied to another man? It was disloyal, unthinkable, a lot of other adjectives that had flown in one ear and out the other. They were in love. Jocelyn knew his story, the Designation he could not read, the mark she could but didn't care for.

They had scheduled the wedding for mid-Autumn and spent the whole Spring looking for a minister willing to perform the rites. That had been beyond even their combined abilities, but they had found a justice of the peace willing to stand as witness in a church Leonard hadn't set foot in since childhood.

Most of the invitees chose not to attend the small ceremony in protest to the affront; only a few close friends came to show their support, and a few curious acquaintances Leonard would just as soon have avoided. To them he and Jocelyn were nothing more than a passing curiosity, some kind of circus act for morbid busybodies. They had both remarked the distaste on the faces of even their most supportive guests when the officiator had pronounced them wed.

Out of respect for Jocelyn's family, Leonard had tactfully postponed the traditional kiss and forbore mentioning their plans for the honeymoon they had painstakingly planned. It was no mean trick to find a city willing to take them as they were, somewhere where Non-Designated pairings were not so odd as to cause remark.

For a while all had been well. They had been good together, Jocelyn and he. Both of them were ambitious and a little too bold, both possessed of a wanderlust that had sent them roaming a time or two only to return to familiar Savannah when luck began to turn against them.

As with any other marriage- and Len defied the Designated pairs to say it wasn't exactly the same for them- there had been a few snags along the way.

Jocelyn had wanted children for one, and Leonard hadn't wanted the commitment that would entail; she didn't care for his protectiveness so he did his level best to to stifle his natural concern whenever possible, and when he couldn't, he had at least made a damned good show of staying collected.

Leonard had wished she could be a little more possessive; Jocelyn's unthinking indifference and complete lack of possessiveness had cut him deeper than he had ever admitted, but there was something to be said for coming home and not having to worry about facing an interrogation every time he was a few hours late. For Jocelyn, it had only been a gesture of her trust in him; he understood now that distance had taken the sting from it.

Contrary to widely held expectations, they had both been faithful, and exactly as they had expected, neither one had found their supposedly ideal 'mate.'

Until the afternoon several years ago when Jocelyn had come home weeping, her cheeks red and eyes puffy with tears. Leonard had known precisely what that meant; there were very few things that could reduce Jocelyn to tears.

She offered to stay once she managed to catch her breath; Len could see that it was a sincere offer, and that it was killing her to make it.

He had filed for an annulment the following morning, and thankfully it had been granted quickly. These situations were not unheard of and were seldom resolved amicably. It was worth the extra trouble; Jocelyn was happy… and Leonard was entirely at loose ends.

Frustrated with the pitying gazes of colleagues and family alike he had finally booked it to the nearest recruiting center for Starfleet. The rest was history, as they said.

"Leonard?" Jocelyn's voice was softer this time; he pulled himself back to the present, scowling at her in warning.

"I'm sorry for lecturing."

Her apologetic smile was enough to soothe his frayed temper, and he offered a reassuring nod. All was forgiven if not forgotten; he signed off soon after, uncertain of what he could offer when the only topic Jocelyn could speak of at length was Clay and his many virtues.

Len couldn't recall anyone ever saying his name in quite that way. For a moment, and only a moment, he permitted himself to regret it.


	2. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonard makes a harrowing discovery, and Khan's work progresses apace.

It was far too early in the morning for any sane man to be awake, which is why Bones just burrowed deeper into his sheets when he heard the door chime; it was probably just a remnant of a dream anyway.

Except the damn thing wouldn't stop chiming until he stumbled out of bed, concern making him sharper than usual. Good news never came at four in the morning.

"Hold your horses, I'm coming!" He didn't bother shrugging into a robe- that would cost precious seconds that he might not have- only punched in the code to unlock the door and came face to face with Certified Menace Jim Kirk.

The unrepentant grin and jaunty salute were fairly good indicators that he was in good health, if a little tipsy, but Leonard managed to rein in his temper. Just.

"Jim, any particular reason you're draggin' me out of bed at this unholy hour of the morning?"

"You seriously missed out, Bones. We had a great time-"

"If you woke me up to regale me with tales of your latest conquest, I might actually murder you, Jim"

Despite the growled words he stepped away from the door and gestured Jim inside. The kid could be a little overenthusiastic at times, but it wasn't like him to be inconsiderate; Leonard was confident he'd have the real meaning for this visit out of him in no time at all. _In Vino Veritas_ , as the saying went.

Len was sure Jim wouldn't appreciate a reminder of it, so he ushered him carefully over to the small table in the kitchen that doubled as his dining room and poured a glass of water. Drunk Kirk seldom took care of sober Kirk, and he tended to forget he wasn't a cadet any more; shaking off hangovers was no longer a talent he possessed.

It only took Len a little longer to shrug into a robe that had seen better years and make his way back to the table.

Jim accepted the glass, wrapping it in both hands to still his slight trembling; he downed it in one go while Bones looked on with reluctant amusement. He even managed a gruff laugh when Jim pulled a face that could only have been disgust.

"This is either the worst vodka I've ever had or you're trying to mother me."

"I'm trying to make sure you have something in your system other than alcohol."

"'M not actually drunk, not even tipsy. Just a little…"

"Tipsy." Len supplied, fully awake if a little annoyed at the necessity. Years of early shifts had paid off, he could cast off sleep just as he did his warm blankets. "Don't try faking your way out of it."

Silence stretched between them but after years of managing these moods, Leonard knew the importance of the waiting game. Jim was a stubborn bastard, it was rare he ever hinted at a need for help; meaning that when he did, it was because he had reached a critical state.

"I met a woman at the bar tonight."

Bones had the uncomfortable feeling he knew precisely where this conversation was going, and he thought he might actually have preferred it to be the bed of some hot young thing Kirk had seduced. It looked like this was going to end exactly where he and Jocelyn had last left off. Damnation. He couldn't escape the pressure even here in the security of his own home.

Leonard was half tempted to make a sarcastic remark about the ratio of women to men in bars and Jim's talent for spotting them; Jim would laugh, smother whatever it was he meant to say and leave the way he had come.

Only Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy had been good friends since they stepped off the academy shuttle five years ago, and Len wasn't in the business of abandoning friends. Against all better judgment, he bit his tongue and waited patiently for Jim to continue.

"We'd just decided on her place when I backed out. I couldn't, Bones. I mean, she was great: funny, smart, fucking knockdown gorgeous, and I just couldn't." He put his head down, sighing deeply. "It wasn't her, Bones, and that's all I can think of lately. None of them are her."

"That's never been a problem before."

Len couldn't keep the frustrated puzzlement from his tone. No one would ever peg Jim Kirk as a hopeless romantic with all his catting around, but that's precisely what he was. Worse, he had a way of infecting even the most rational men with it over periods of prolonged exposure. Having roomed with Jim Kirk during their academy days, Leonard wasn't surprised to find he was a little affected by Jim's plight.

And it pissed him off.

"Too sober, I guess." Jim shrugged, trying for a wry smile that wouldn't quite form.

"That's not a bad thing, Jim."

"Bullshit. I'm so-"

"Hold right there. Is this going to be one of those things you regret saying in the morning and we just pretend it never happened?"

"Probably."

"I'll get the bourbon."

"It's four in the morning." A half-hearted protest at best, and Bones could see the beginning of a true smile tugging at his lips when he said it.

"We'll only have a glass." Len raised a brow at the tall glass Jim still clutched to his chest.

"I really fucking love you, Bones. Are you sure I'm not your Designated?"

"Wouldn't complain, but I like to think I would notice if my name magically changed to Carol Marcus."

Jim barely kept himself from lunging across the table to smother Bones' words behind a desperate hand. There were few Unbonded willing to discuss the particulars of their Designated, even with their closest friends; Bones counted it an honor that Jim had confided that detail in him years ago during another such melancholic mood. It was the highest mark of trust anyone could offer, and even if Leonard thought a system predicated on binary individuality was senseless, he was conscious of the weight of Jim's offering.

Normally a Designation was only apparent to its bearer before a bonding was complete. Others would see only unintelligible runes etched into that place a name would one day occupy if they were fortunate enough to be accepted by their Designated- there was no harm in letting the world see then precisely whom one had claimed and in turn been claimed by.

For his part, Leonard had only ever seen a series of senseless markings that didn't bear a resemblance to any sort of language he'd ever seen before, let alone a name.

It had been a subject of some concern for his parents when they had first found him scrubbing his wrist raw, trying to make the mark tell him something or disappear entirely if it was going to be nothing more than a blemish on his skin, a lifelong reminder that he would always be found wanting.

The habit had persisted for nearly a year before they dragged him to a specialist while Leonard argued and pleaded every step of the way, all to no avail. No amount of testing or pointless counseling sessions had revealed the reason for his blindness; he might as well have been a Null, and frankly would have been happier had that been the case.

First had come the uncomprehending stares, then the disappointed glances, then the suggestion that perhaps he was just being stubborn, and was he sure he couldn't read a name there? Really, it was fine if he didn't want to say what it was, but this persistent dishonesty-

The litany was never-ending, and it had taken him all of a month to decide he was better off without the consuming obsession shared by so many other Humans- no planet had so many Designations as Earth. Maybe it was something in the air.

Len returned to the table, glass filled to the brim with his best bourbon; Jim would drink just about anything, but Leonard was a man of few vices and what few he practiced, he practiced well.

"Now I'm ready. And you are too."

Jim inhaled the drink, coughing fitfully. "I don't know. It's just a mood and I'll get over it, but it's been getting worse these past few months."

Bones sipped his bourbon and held his tongue; Jim would come out with the whole story when he was good and ready, not a moment before. He wasn't about to play the bully and force it from him.

"I mean, I'm captain of the _Enterprise_ , the fleet's flagship, Bones. Pike says there's every chance Starfleet is going to send us on an exploratory assignment someday; we're going to see worlds Humans have never set foot on before. Everything is coming together, my life has never been this good, and I'm just so damn _happy_."

Jim leaned back, fixing his gaze on some target visible only to him. "Then I look over and there's Spock hovering over Uhura, driving her crazy while she's trying to work. Christine won't stop cooing at Janice even when she's on duty, and I'm jealous."

He knocked back the glass in one fell swoop, running an ungentle hand through his hair. "I'm jealous, Bones. And it's not like I'm not going to say I'd give up my captain's chair for whatever it is they have- that would be crazy, right?"

"Crazy." Leonard agreed, gesturing wordlessly to the bottle. Jim declined his offer with a brisk shake of his head.

"But I have everything else, and it still doesn't feel like enough. I'm so damn greedy." Jim rested his head on the table, worrying at his bottom lip in a way Len hadn't seen since their early days,

"I think your drinks're kicking in a little late, Jim."

"You and me are always alone."

Bones snorted humorlessly, "With a thousand crewmembers aboard at any given time? We could be so lucky."

"Don't fucking joke." Len bridled at the sharpness of his tone, but subsided at seeing the remorseful glance Jim shot him.

"I'm sorry, Bones, I know you say this isn't a big deal for you, but I'm just so tired of everyone else finding their Designated while I just sort of stand off at the sidelines. Chapel wasn't even looking for hers and she found her first, same with Uhura."

"Happy coincidences. You know I don't buy into that whole 'fate' thing, Jim, but if there is any justice in the universe you'll find her. For your sake, I hope the day comes soon."

When Jim glanced up at him, Leonard could just see redness beginning around his eyes; time to get him to bed before he did something he'd regret in the morning.

"Why don't you take my bed? I'd normally be waking up in another couple hours or so; I'll just get a head start on tomorrow's roster while you sleep this off."

Jim allowed himself to be led meekly from table to bed, another sign of his fey mood. "Meek" was not a word anyone would associate with Jim Kirk.

"I just don't know how you do it, Bones. How can you not care?"

"Told you, I don't believe in fate. We make our own way, Jim. You're so fond a' tellin' me that rules are only guidelines, well it's the same for Designations. It's impossible to guess the measure of a person before they even know it themselves. I'd have to believe in predestination if I wanted to credit these marks, and I don't. Believe or want to."

Jim spoke through teeth gritted with determination, "I do."

Bones pretended not to hear the challenge in his voice; he didn't care to be pulled into a debate so early in the morning. It was hardly fair anyway with Jim past tipsy and well on his way toward drunk.

 

 

Leonard strode away, busying himself cleaning up their mess until he heard Jim's quiet snores; it was a particular gift of his that he could always fall asleep within two minutes or less, a trait Len had often envied when he found himself battling insomnia.

He didn't begrudge Jim his escape, he would just as soon be alone with his thoughts. Sometimes he had the uncanny feeling Jim could see through him to whatever it was that made him tick. He got those looks sometimes that said he knew Bones was lying, and if he didn't come clean Jim was going to help him out with it.

Not that Jim was the most scrupulously honest man out there, but sometimes he rivaled his green-blooded first officer for self-righteousness.

Most of the time Leonard had nothing worth hiding; honesty meant he would never have to scramble for a cover story when the cards turned against him, and he'd never been gifted at keeping his thoughts to himself anyway. His outspokenness had landed him in hot water on more than one occasion; Leonard suffered no illusions that it was a charming personality that had kept him from being court-martialed for insubordination in any of a dozen incidents.

Sometimes though, he thought Jim might know the one secret he thought was worth keeping.

When he was younger, before his Designation had made him a curiosity, Leonard had been as much of a romantic as Jim. He wasn't ashamed of that, all children went through the regrettable phase, and how could they not when they were constantly assailed with stories that told them finding their Designated was the most rewarding task they would ever accomplish?

He'd done the same as any other young boy and lain awake at night trying to imagine how they would meet, what it would feel like to see this missing piece of himself at last. Would they know each other on sight? Would they just know without being told that they were meant for each other or would the sight of their Designations be the first clue?

His parents had borne his eager questions with good grace and exchanged more than a few fond glances tempered with gently teasing words. Leonard wanted exactly that closeness with his partner.

But would it be a boy or a girl? Where would they come from? When would they meet? Had there ever been a case of a Designated pair that never found each other? The questions were endless for a time. As he grew older, some of those pleasant daydreams had taken a more salacious turn and Leonard had found himself less inclined to share his questions; he had just about died of embarrassment when his father slipped those health and safety pamphlets into his room.

And then he had finally reached the upper limit of the age when he should have been able to read the runes on his wrist, only they never resolved into anything more. Nothing, not wishing or prayer nor any methods he could devise had made those marks into anything more than senseless gibberish.

Rather than fall to pieces like his mother nearly had at discovering the anomaly, Len buried himself in work and was both surprised and relieved to find it was enough. He felt satisfied, and if there was sometimes a little twinge whenever he saw the way his parents depended so completely on each other then he comforted himself with the knowledge that he would never have to face the pain of losing a bond like that to the inevitable passage of time.

None of this was really a secret, even if he would rather it wasn't widely known; Leonard was proud that he had managed to buck his conditioning.

His shame was that he hadn't been entirely successful.

Jim had teased him when he boarded that shuttle in Riverside about his aviophobia and what awaited him when he graduated from the academy; thankfully Bones hadn't been drunk enough to confess that some small part of him thought maybe his Designated was waiting for him out there in the stars, gazing up at a foreign sky as though it held all the answers the universe had to offer and maybe another gift yet denied.

The wonder of it was, he'd been drunk enough to enlist in Starfleet based on that whim, and just sober enough to convince the recruiting officer that he was capable of making an informed decision, dammit.

He had almost regretted it come morning, even briefly debated the idea of heading to Boyce's office and requesting a discharge, but he'd never been a man to take back his word once it was given.

Now that Leonard had finally dragged himself out of the academy and into the black, he knew Starfleet was exactly where he was needed; more than that, it was where he wanted to be, inconvenient phobia notwithstanding.

But he'd never confess to the origin of the impulse that had made him sign his name to the dotted line; he would take that secret to his grave.

 

 

Leonard headed to the back room, a study now that he finally had quarters of his own. The lights flickered on at his whispered command though he still reflexively raised a hand to flick light switches that hadn't been standard issue in residences since his great grandparents had built their little home.

From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of something impossible.

One minute. Two. He shut his eyes and drew a breath, counting down from ten in a useless calming exercise Uhura swore by. This couldn't be right, his eyes were blurry and unfocused and the sudden change from darkness to light had wreaked havoc on his night vision.

When at last he opened his eyes and carefully slid the cuff of his sleeve back it was still there, emblazoned across his wrist where once there had been nothing but indecipherable symbols:

_Khan Noonien Singh._

 

* * *

 

In the weeks following his awakening, Khan diligently studied every facet of the era, from technology to social treatises down to the smallest minutiae of fashion. No detail was too small, no gesture insignificant if he wanted to blend seamlessly with the masses. He took particular care to unearth every bit of data he could on the phenomenon of Designations.

No great progress had been made, most likely due to superstition or a mistaken belief that there were no great discoveries left in the field. However, it had taken him no great space of time to run across the name of "Leonard Horatio McCoy"; the man was listed as an exception to nearly every possible classification. He was not a Null, yet multiple reports claimed he was as yet unable to read the Designation that flowed across his left wrist.

An instance of a Natural being unable to decipher their gift had long been a subject of interest to novelists; some historians claimed similar cases had existed centuries previously, most had discounted such tales as an example of an Unbonded mate determined to protect their Designated from consequences the modern researcher could not begin to guess.

"Class" had never been a concern, neither "race" nor conflicting ideologies; a Designation was absolute and as far back as even the most dedicated scholar could trace, a Designation had always taken precedent over such artificial concerns. There were scattered accounts of a bloodbath when a well-respected 'leader of men' had dared to eliminate his Designated to ensure his power could not be threatened by a weaker partner. No sooner had his pitiable mate been removed than rebellion destroyed every facet of the nation the fool had attempted to build on the bones of his Designated.

Nothing of him remained save cautionary tales; his very name had been filed from monuments and ink scraped from the pages of any manuscripts that even listed the province and family he hailed from.

There was nothing then that should prevent someone from acknowledging their mate, and no indication of previous cases similar to McCoy's in the contemporary age.

Of course, researchers were not privy to every facet of McCoy's situation; his Designated had been living, hence the appearance of his mark, but perhaps the stasis had empathetically interfered with his natural development?

Khan's own Designation had not even appeared until centuries after his creation; a conundrum that suggested a reason for why some should be born Nulls, but that was hardly his concern. His current difficulty was in determining whether Leonard McCoy could decipher his mark now that his mate walked the earth, and whether he was a man that would hasten to report it.

A quick review of his psychological profile, unintentionally provided by Starfleet's database, had suggested not.

"How are you settling in, John?"

The new name grated on his ears, short and unremarkable in comparison to his own. Common. Still, it would be easier to accept the yoke of Marcus' command without the burden of pride his given name would have added. It was safer for now to become John Harrison and see to the future when he had dealt with the nuisance of the present.

Glancing up at Alexander Marcus, John could see the malicious satisfaction in the tilt of his chin, the self-assurance in the very set of his shoulders. This was the stance of a man who stood over his fallen enemy; it was singularly unsuited to him. Khan allowed himself to be called John Harrison, and the persona came to him with ease since he had crafted his background and arranged the records personally, but Marcus would be mistaken in thinking the man that stood before him was any less ruthless for a temporary change of name.

In fact, had Marcus been aware of how very helpful his resources had been proving these past months he might have rethought his strategy. Khan Noonien Singh might have taken the opportunity to humble Marcus on the spot, John Harrison only stepped away from his desk and looked on in silence as Marcus rifled through the schematics strewn about there.

It was strange to feel the chafe of paper beneath his fingertips, but Section 31 was nothing if not cautious with any materials pertaining to the true nature of their work. PADDs could be compromised, computers hacked, but paper and the minds of Starfleet's best could hold unlimited data in relative safety.

"Not much progress on the defensive grid, but this design." Marcus lifted the sheet detailing a new class of torpedo whose true use he certainly wouldn't guess. "This is why I wanted you under my command."

He lifted his gaze to John, taking in the crisp, black uniform of Section 31 and the Starfleet insignia pinned to his chest in blatant mockery of their petty ideals. Those hollow principles of peace and unity rang with conviction when spoken from lecterns and trumpeted from holovids. In practice it was Section 31 that protected this way of life by flouting the very code of law they pretended to uphold.

The irony of it never failed to bring a smile to John's face, and that invariably provoked a bitter diatribe from Marcus and his ilk on 'choosing the lesser evil' or whatever propagandist rot they used to justify their latest crimes. It would not have bothered John so very much except that they truly seemed to believe the deceit; Marcus had been weaving webs for so long he had managed to trap himself in one of his own making, and for that reason he was treated to withering contempt from the captive whom he now purported to control.

"Speaking of my command." Marcus laid the papers aside, stepping around the desk to minimize the space between them, "I gave you orders to apply yourself to designing the next generation of defensive technology for use in any antagonistic maneuvers undertaken against the Federation, yet the reports I receive tell me you've dedicated an inordinate amount of time to investigating one Leonard McCoy."

John barely stifled the dismayed hiss that rose in his throat, suppressing his rage with effort; he damned himself thrice over for his carelessness. So often Marcus played the part of the posturing soldier that it was easy to forget he must be a man of some degree of cunning, head of an integral part of Starfleet intelligence as he was. The knowledge was there in his eyes, in the way his gaze shifted pointedly to John's concealed wrist. He knew John Harrison's second most precious secret, and that changed everything, added variables John had not considered until now.

No matter, in the grand scheme this was only a minor snare; Marcus would not dare to move against Khan's Designated for fear of the consequences he might bring down atop his head.

Both John Harrison and Khan Noonien Singh were in agreement on that score. If they had miscalculated to such an extent that their mate was forced to pay the price for their hubris, blood would flow in rivers before their vengeance was accounted complete.

"Don't be coy." John edged the barest centimeter closer, watching keenly as Marcus shifted his weight back to regain the distance between them.

"No." Marcus' smile broadened, his face crinkling with the effort. "I only wanted to remind you of your loyalties."

"I am not likely to forget." John conceded, the success of his charade depended upon Marcus' belief in his complicity, but he could not resist adding a veiled warning. "I am sure your reports also detail my research into Carol Marcus. Is she a relation of yours?"

The color drained from Marcus' features, his fingers twitching reflexively, doubtless with the urge to wrap them around John Harrison's throat.

"I have been most cooperative, admiral, surely you do not begrudge me the use of tools only slightly outside my discipline? Your cause has benefited greatly from my aid these past months; it is only right that I should do the same."

It was time to bring the conversation back to neutral ground; his threat had been made and Marcus would be on the alert, but John's request was a small one and if Marcus believed he had yet more collateral against him it could only strengthen his position.

For a moment it looked as though Marcus was going to argue but after a tense moment he nodded, devoid of any expression. That was hardly a promising sign, but Marcus' suspicions would not alter a plan that had been set in motion almost from the day John had been handed this assignment.

Marcus left the room with haste, likely intending to comm his daughter and reassure himself she was precisely where he meant her to be. It was a very Human reaction, and predictable, but he would find her in the research wing of Starfleet's science academy in London. He would spend a few hours wondering when Khan had taken the opportunity to meet her and whether the threat against her was genuine or imagined.

And while Marcus busied himself seeing to his family, John would see to securing the future of his own. Once that was complete, he would have to see about taking the final step of meeting his own mate and verifying that Leonard McCoy was everything his record suggested he could be. If he was already compromised then the benefits to the encounter would far outweigh the risk. Khan could open that first line of communication between them, the ephemeral link that would permit him a more personal insight.

Most importantly, he could begin to weave his plans around McCoy and make certain his Designated would not be caught in the crossfire of the battle to come. Khan would willingly assume the burden of his safety until such time as he knew the extent of McCoy's abilities… and loyalties.

John turned back to his work, ignoring the primal satisfaction it gave him to think of securing his mate safe from harm. It was not unexpected; Naturals were hardwired to consider the well-being of their Designated, and if admiral Marcus assumed it would be any different for an Augment then he would learn the error of his ways in the most agonizing fashion imaginable.

After so many years of war, Khan could imagine quite a lot, and John Harrison had access to the tools that would enable him to make his thoughts a reality.

Occupied with these bloodthirsty thoughts, the hours flew by as he made the final adjustments to the schematics and models he'd been crafting. After two centuries of waiting, another day would mean nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the lateness of this chapter, my horse threw me the other day and getting comfortable is proving a little tricky. Thank you for your patience!
> 
>  
> 
> I owe thanks to BotanyCameos for pointing out a rather crucial error on my part. Some phrases in the first chapter have been altered to reflect this.
> 
> In brief, it seemed "Into Darkness" was reinterpreting Khan's character to be genocidal as opposed to the original Wrath of Khan. Arguments to the contrary were very convincing and I will be proceeding with the assumption that Khan was unique among his peers for his sense in *not* engaging in mass genocide.


	3. Close Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John decides he wants a better idea of what he's risking so much for.
> 
> Leonard decides he's tired of spending his nights alone.

_Finished._ John Harrison was hard pressed to keep the satisfaction from his face; he hardly dared to speak more than a smattering of words for fear his colleagues would hear it in his tone, sense it in his bearing. Starfleet personnel were a cut above the average, he could concede that after nearly a year in the company of assorted engineers and scientists, brilliant minds whose potential had been stunted by the directives their superiors ruthlessly enforced and yet flouted at their own convenience.

None had remarked any change in his bearing today. To them, John Harrison had always seemed aloof and withdrawn, always imposing distance between himself and his comrades.

Staff parted around him like a swarm of gnats as Harrison strode toward the hangar that held the first model he had designed.

Word had come down this morning that the missiles he had taken such care to perfect were at last slated to be built and tested. Marcus wouldn't invest Starfleet resources in weapons that did not deliver on their potential; he had ordered a round of testing for the handful he had authorized.

Minor tweaking would be needed, small upgrades and little additions he could have easily overlooked, but in the end they would work spectacularly, John had made certain it would be so. _Then_ Marcus would authorize dozens more, at least six dozen if all went according to plan. That was all he would need, and let Marcus do with the rest what he would.

It had amused John to no end learning that admiral Marcus had denied his own daughter's request to examine the weapons' blueprints. He had cited a need to avoid the appearance of favoritism, but John knew it was _his_ presence at the testing grounds that ensured Carol Marcus would never be permitted near. It hardly mattered, she had no place in Harrison's scheme anyway, but Marcus' transparent attempts to shield her would only make her that much more determined to outwit him.

For a man that prided himself on heading an organization whose sole function was to gather intelligence, he could be remarkably lacking in foresight.

But then, Marcus had at least been wise enough not to take him at his word when he had professed resignation to his fate. In the few months since John had submitted his plans for approval, Marcus had seen to it he was not permitted to leave the research compound.

That would all change when his missile proved to be exactly what he had promised and more. Admiral Marcus would cede to pressure to allow Harrison more latitude in his living arrangements, though John had no doubt it would be reported if he so much as sneezed in public.

Nevertheless, this small victory was deserving of celebration. After months of patiently laying the groundwork for his trap, cooperating with his captors even unto the point of surrendering his extraneous research into Designations, John had decided he was deserving of a minor aberration or two.

Precisely two. The first being his appropriation of the chemical Section 31 field agents used to obscure their Designations, and the second a brief jaunt to finally meet the object of his dedicated study.

According to Starfleet's database, Leonard McCoy was even now awaiting orders, stranded planetside while the _Enterprise_ was docked for maintenance. He would be grateful for the respite but after nearly two months without the hum of engines beneath his feet, John was certain even a confirmed aviophobe would be chafing at the delay.

This was John's gift for all the precious time lost to a game of check and counter-check with Marcus, this was his reward for putting aside the question of his own wellbeing in favor of his crew.

Under more auspicious circumstances John would have delayed this first rendezvous indefinitely, but Marcus knew more of his mate than he, and that state of affairs could not be permitted to last even a moment longer than necessary. By simple virtue of who he belonged to, Leonard McCoy was already at risk; compounding that was Admiral Marcus' rank in comparison with McCoy's and the power Marcus had amassed among his paranoid, military-minded peers. It was certain that when John Harrison made his opening move, McCoy would already be a target for immediate reprisal.

It would place him in no greater danger if John were to find him before the storm; in fact, this could only be to their mutual benefit, opening that first tentative line between them, an empathetic link that would allow insight into one another. So he hoped.

In any case, that link would at least force McCoy to acknowledge the existence of his mate. When his mark finally resolved itself for all the world to see he would have no choice but to admit his Designation.

It had not escaped John's notice that McCoy had not yet reported his changed status to Starfleet.

If his theory held true, and it was the only possible explanation, then McCoy should have been able to decipher his marking from the moment Khan had awoken. Yet he continued on as though nothing had changed; he hadn't been expecting the stab of betrayal when he found McCoy had still gone to such lengths to conceal his Designation even from those he was legally required to notify.

It hardly mattered, soon he would be meeting McCoy in the flesh, and any hope of denying their connection would be lost. A daunting prospect, but the yield would far outweigh the risk if bonding was even half the experience it was rumored to be.

The guards on either side of the gate leading to the primary hangar came to attention when he stepped into view, snapping off crisp salutes, hardly flinching when he breezed past. As Marcus grew more complacent around his captive so too did his subordinates, and they had no cause to fear John Harrison; only a select few among the security and medical divisions were aware he was anything more than a commander specializing in the sciences.

That would all change soon enough if he played his role convincingly. Bearing that thought in mind, John fixed a smile to his face as he approached the select group gathered around his masterpiece and salvation. Mere weeks until he could set the final stage in motion, and by then it would be too late for Marcus to do more than stand back and marvel at the monster he had created.

 

* * *

 

 

One of the advantages of working dirtside, Leonard decided as he clocked off shift one brisk winter's evening, was that very few of his tasks were time sensitive.

Aboard a starship there was always something that had to be done: reports to catch up on, equipment to be tested and updated, cocky ensigns that inevitably found new and interesting ways to injure themselves every shift. In the rare months like these when the _Enterprise_ was docked and her crew confined to earth, he could bury himself in research notes from conferences he hadn't been able to attend and no one would think it strange.

Normally, Leonard loathed it. He lived for the bustle of the infirmary and the challenges it presented. Damned if he didn't enjoy filing reports on any incidents that arrived, trying to find the creative language that could turn a broken finger into something like a ship-wide crisis- or vice versa as was more often the case. Just something to entertain the record-keepers and himself in his off hours. Tonight though, he was grateful that he could simply shove his PADDs aside, lock down the corrosives he'd been dabbling with for lack of anything better and leave at his own discretion.

Jocelyn had tried to comm him three times in the past hour, and Len was wise enough to know that probably meant trouble. He wasted no time informing Chapel he was taking the remainder of the night off before hurrying back to the relative privacy of his apartment, praying that Jim wouldn't be there with drinks in hand and stories to tell of whatever it was he got up to on shore leave.

It was the work of a moment to toss his coat and shoes aside and settle in to return Jocelyn's calls; twice more she had tried to reach him while he was aboard the transport, but he hadn't wanted to air private business where any curious ear might overhear.

It didn't take long for her to answer, and Leonard breathed a sigh of relief that whatever had happened, she was still well enough to give him a mild telling off. "Five times, Leonard, _five_. Did you leave your comm again? It'll never do you any good if you don't keep it with you."

"What\s the emergency? Leave the lights on again?" He'd meant it to be light, but the next moment he noticed her watery eyes and damned himself for three different kinds of idiocy. "'M sorry, Jocelyn, I couldn't-"

"I'm pregnant." She whispered, and for a moment her face brightened, but the frown was back in place all too soon.

"Congratulations." Len was happy for her, truly. Jocelyn had always said she wanted a kid or two, but he was struck by an unexpected bolt of self-pity; there was no reason for Jocelyn to share the news with him- but now that she had, he still wasn't certain how she expected him to react.

Jocelyn sniffed, surreptitiously swiping her eyes with a fingertip, "That's it?" She gave a watery chuckle, "Clay doesn't even know yet, you're the first, and that's it?" There was no heat in the words, but he could hear an undercurrent of disappointment.

Honesty was always the best policy, leave the flattery to Jim. "I don't know what else to say except I hope it gets its mother's good looks." That earned him a huff of laughter and a mock-reproving glance.

It was worth the risk to ask the question weighing on his mind, "Are you all right? Why the tears?"

"I don't know. I'm tired. It was a long day, and then this- I don't know."

Len flashed her a genuine grin, tipping a wink, "Gettin' an early start on the mood swings, I guess."

Jocelyn shrugged, "Might as well." Some of the worry lines smoothed, but she still seemed tense, a little… awkward.

"I don't mean to rush you, but was there something else?" Hesitancy was unlike her; Jocelyn had always walked the fine line between bold and foolhardy, to see her unsteady now was disconcerting to say the least.

"Clay and I were talking-" There was no way that statement could end well.

"Don't give me that look, Leonard Horatio McCoy, you can wait until I'm finished before you start leaping to conclusions."

Leonard managed a sheepish nod, "Go on."

"We were thinking when the first baby came along we'd have some changes to make in our wills-"

"I can't commit to taking a kid, and it doesn't matter because both of you are young and healthy. Nothing's gonna-"

"I thought you were going to wait until I was finished?" He might've deserved that narrow-eyed look. Jocelyn always said if he didn't learn to let a body finish their train of thought she was going to invest in a gag.

"Beg pardon, go on." Spitefully, Jocelyn waited a few seconds more before resuming the thread of their conversation.

"Would you mind if we asked your aunt Grace to stand in for us in the event of-" Jocelyn waved her hand dismissively, unwilling to finish the sentence. Damn, it looked like she was about to cry again, and Leonard never had been able to stand the sight of a woman crying; especially Jocelyn, who had perfected the art of the stoic weeping punctuated by smothered sobs.

"If we did, then you could visit and-"

"Course. Why bother asking me when you should be askin' _her_? ThoughI'm expecting an invite as soon as you're ready for guests."

As easy as that her tears were gone, the remaining tension fled, "I'm glad. I wasn't certain you would want to visit us at all."

"Why the hell not?"

Jocelyn tilted her head, excitement making her fingers tremble slightly as she reached out to disconnect the comm. "I have to go, Clay's home. Talk next week?"

She was gone before Leonard could answer, but that was just as well, his smile could only last so long before his cheeks started to ache with the effort of forcing it.

He was thrilled that Jocelyn was finally having that child she'd so dearly wanted. Leonard had no doubt the kid would be smothered with affection and probably a little bit spoiled by the time Jocelyn and Clay had their way. He was honored that she'd informed him first, and pleased that she'd thought to include his family.

But it did bring him a brief pang of… not regret, but wistfulness.

Leonard was reminded of that time months ago when Jim had stumbled into his home heartbroken, beaten down and just tipsy enough to talk about it. Len had been able to say, with all truthfulness at the time, that he wasn't lonely, only alone.

Now he thought he understood a little better the burden Jim contended with. He wasn't much in the mood for being on his own tonight either. If he were still in the academy, this was one of the nights where he might have been tempted to go looking for better company, just someone to while away the dark hours with, forgetting to think until morning light.

It was the work of a moment to comm Jim and inquire whether he had any set plans for the night. Nothing more than the usual, Jim assured him, and that grin really should have been a dead give away, but Leonard was too distracted to know it for the promise it was. By the time he realized what Jim intended, it was too late to back out.

 

* * *

 

 

Leonard had always been a man of conviction by necessity. "The squeaky hinge gets the oil" was more than just a trite idiom to be dragged out over family dinners, it was a way of life in the McCoy family. The meek didn't inherit much of anything and God help the poor fool that committed the unpardonable sin of backing down from an argument they had committed to.

He wasn't sure which malfunctioning neural pathway was responsible for making him think it would be any different with Jim Kirk, but somehow after hours of insisting that _no_ he wasn't ready for a night on the town, and _yes_ he was fine spending a night in, he still found himself crammed in another club Jim had raved about at length.

Len was beginning to wonder just how many of these dives Jim had been waiting to spring on him at the first opportunity.

He nursed his whiskey sullenly, trying in vain to drown out the godawful music blaring too loudly over the speakers. Wasn't anyone just a little concerned about blowing the damn things out? He could practically feel the bass reverberating in his bones and it couldn't be doing any more good for the sound system than it was his aching head.

The only thing that soothed him even a little was that Spock was stuck in this dark pit the same as he. Worse, Uhura had dragged him out into the crowd with her ten minutes past. Not being any kind of saint, Leonard had flashed a grin at the sight of his obvious discomfort. Spock only glowered back, but that was more of a reaction than could have been expected even a year ago; that was probably Uhura's influence showing.

Alone now with nothing but drink in hand and the company of his own thoughts, Len cast back to look for the miscalculation that had led him to spending his night in this overrated, and overpriced, corner.

He could blame it on Jocelyn, for comming when she did. Or maybe Jim, for prying the truth from him less than twenty minutes after he had barged into Len's quarters; Spock, for agreeing to a 'night on the town' with Uhura…ultimately he knew the blame lay squarely on _his_ shoulders, and now he would have to live with it.

A heavy hand settled on his shoulder and Leonard just about jumped out of his skin before he realized it was only Jim behind him, hiding his concern behind a knowing smirk. "Ready for another drink? Next one's on me; I mean, if you're going to be some kind of honorary uncle then I am too, right? This calls for a celebration."

Pity he only caught about half of what Jim was saying; his eardrums were shot and his patience was wearing thinner by the second. Len gestured to his ears and Jim nodded his understanding, sitting down next to him and motioning to the bartender for another shot.

"You. Me. Drinks. I pay. Good?"

"Always." It was rather hard to stay grouchy when he wasn't picking up the tab. "Last drink though, Jim. I'm done for the night."

"I can't hear you, Bones! It's too loud!"

Bullshit. Jim's hearing was flawless until he heard something he didn't like. It was good that he was finally admitting to his selective hearing loss though. Not for the first time, Bones considered submitting an official request that all cadets be trained in a universal method of non-verbal communication. How the hell hadn't someone got on that already? As it was, he settled for gesturing sharply to the glass and making a cutting motion, exaggerating the movement of his lips.

"Last. One. I'm done, Jim."

"C'mon. It hasn't even been two hours-"

"A bar, you said. This is a fucking _club_. I hate clubs. I'm too damn old for this shit."

"If you want to dance that badly, then come downstairs. If your creaking thirty-something joints can handle it."

"Go choke on a pretzel, Jim."

"You've wounded me-"

"Pour a beer on your gaping wound and let's go home."

Jim relented, muffling his sigh in whatever the hell that pink, fruity drink was; his sweet tooth must be plaguing him again.

"All right, one hour. Just give me an hour more."

"No one said you had to come with me."

"'M not leaving you, Bones. Unless you change your mind and decide to take some lucky bastard home." Jim waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "Then my lips are sealed, and I'll stay out of your hair."

"Not tonight, Jim."

"Good. Then one hour and we're gone." That pleading look on Jim's face had marked the beginning of a dozen adventures Len swore up and down he could do without. Then again, those hare-brained plots made up at least half of his good memories from the academy. Against his better judgment, Leonard relented; this probably wouldn't end well, but their hangovers were already assured and what else could possibly go wrong between the two of them?

"Your time starts now."

Jim downed his drink in one desperate gulp and bolted back down to whatever circle of the Inferno he had first risen from. Leonard would never admit it, but their light banter had cheered him considerably. Now that Jim had put the idea in his head, he even unbent enough to leave the relative safety of the bar and slink over to the balcony that overlooked the seething mass of drunkards Jim felt so at home among.

Leonard wasn't exactly in a position to criticize; he was just the wrong side of sober himself. There was a twisting feeling in his gut that warned him his drinks hadn't quite caught up yet either. Liquor on an empty stomach was never a good idea, and Len had the uncomfortable feeling he was going to learn the truth of that firsthand tomorrow morning.

Might as well enjoy the night while he could.

For a split second he thought he might have spotted Uhura, wending her way through the crowd toward… ah yes, that was Jim, and he'd already managed to latch onto Spock, who was obviously intent on leaving but swayed from his convictions by a teasing smile from Uhura and Jim's whining. Jim would maintain it was his innate charisma that persuaded Spock to stay that extra hour, but Leonard could see the bewildered Vulcan had eyes only for his Designated.

He laughed aloud when the poor bastard accepted the drink she offered and fell into step behind her, shouldering aside anyone that looked like they might want to try their luck with the pretty officer.

Apparently even green-blooded computers were susceptible to jealousy, though he never would have credited it if the evidence weren't right there before his eyes. Still musing idly, Leonard scanned the throng, looking for any more stories unfolding downstairs. It seemed he was doomed to disappointment- nothing but cadets slumming with locals, hardly even an offworlder in sight.

Damn. He'd even managed to misplace Jim somewhere in the melee; with their comms held at the door and no alternative meeting place, it looked like he was just going to have to stay as long as Jim pleased or risk getting a lecture that could put their academy professors to shame.

He scanned the crowd again, looking for any sign of a familiar blond head. Perhaps… was that him there?

"Are you waiting on someone?"

_Holy Shit._ The seemingly innocuous question was whispered into his ear, sending tendrils of sensation curling through him. Clearly he'd had a little more to drink than he had realized. Leonard spun, keeping a shocked exclamation locked tight behind his lips.

To be fair, the sight that confronted him would probably have stolen the words from his mouth anyway.

The man had to be six and a half feet if he was an inch, tall as he was Leonard rarely encountered anyone that could top his own not unimpressive height, but something in the man's carriage made him seem larger still.

And the eyes. Steel gray set above a charming smile that wasn't fooling anyone. Leonard felt pinned beneath that assessing gaze; it was a new and not entirely unpleasant sensation.

Covering his shock, Leonard set his drink aside lest it betray the telling tremor of his hands. This was beyond unusual; in his academy days he had been routinely _wasted_ with Jim and still his clever hands and tongue had never failed him. Combine the drink with a sudden shot of adrenaline though and it looked like it wasn't such a bad idea, propping himself up here.

"Any particular reason you need to know?" Len fixed the interloper with his best scowl, the one he typically saved for Jim's worst shenanigans. This one didn't look even remotely intimidated; his smile widened a fraction and Leonard half expected him to rub his hands together like a caricature of a gleeful villain.

"I thought perhaps we might keep company. Far from the madding crowd, as it were." He nodded to the press that swarmed around them, all raucous laughter and high spirits.

Ah. A kindred spirit, eager to escape the insanity. That explained the poor bastard's visible satisfaction. Leonard took in the man's attire, form-fitting shirt with high collar; charcoal gray or perhaps black- hard to tell in this lighting, but unquestionably a good cut. Elegant and understated.

No. Neither one of them belonged here. Leonard gestured to the empty space beside him, secure enough now to take his glass back in hand and finish it off in a few quick gulps.

"Leonard McCoy. You are?"

There went that smile again, just a hint of challenge beneath. "John. John Harrison."

"Well, John Harrison, damned if you're here with the cadets so what sorta bet d'you lose?"

"Would you believe me if I said I had won?"

"Hell, I'd hate to see the forfeit then." Len chuckled, going to take another sip of his drink before realizing that the glass was entirely empty. He wasn't much in the mood for braving the crush around the bar again either. Better just to call it a night anyway with Jim presumably wrapping things up below stairs.

"Am I to take it that a bet lost is the reason for your own presence?" It took Leonard a moment to remember the question could only be addressed to him; he'd been a little lost in the husky timbre of that voice. What was the accent? The rhythm wasn't something he had ever associated with Federation Standard. Uhura was the linguist, she would probably know, and it hardly mattered anyway.

"Not a bet. Just caught a case of the stupid and let a friend drag me in. If he doesn't get his ass up here soon though, I'm not sure how much longer I'll be calling him friend."

He was too distracted to notice the way Harrison's body tensed with annoyance for a split second, charming smile faltering for a tenth of that before the expression returned.

Normally Leonard would have been content to let silence fall between them, allowing the conversation to lapse. Not so this time, whether he was simply craving conversation after an evening glued to a stool while Jim socialized below or whether it was simply another instance of his overly curious mind being caught by the mystery John Harrison presented, he found himself scrabbling for something to say that would give them an excuse to speak longer.

"You waitin' on anyone in particular?"

"You." The look John leveled at him made his meaning abundantly clear.

Leonard had never been the sort to invite a stranger to his bed, preferring to restrict his occasional aberrations to acquaintances, and never colleagues; that record nearly flew out the airlock when Harrison turned the full force of his gaze on him, watching every motion with a dedicated intensity that made Leonard's breath come short and fast. In the immortal words of Jim, who had a way with his quick mouth every now and again, that look was scary sexy, with an emphasis on the scary.

"Damn. I'll have to remember that line." Leonard's laughter didn't break the new tension between them at all, and fuck if that didn't make him a little weak in the knees. It had been _ages_ since he'd last felt an instantaneous fascination with someone… and look where that had ended for both of them. When he glanced up from contemplating the swirls in his glass, John had turned away again, hands splayed across the balustrade in a way that brought all manner of lewd images to Len's sodden mind.

Yes, he had taken enough to drink tonight. Though not so much that he couldn't make his own decisions in the here and now- and probably live to regret it come morning.

As though the universe had sensed his sudden need to be _gone_ , the crowd parted slightly to reveal Jim, a lovely lady draped over his right arm and another over his left. Experience had taught Leonard what would happen next. Completely disregarding his wish to be left the hell alone, Jim would come sprinting up those stairs with his new friends in tow. He'd say they were going to share the transport, and they would, right back to Jim's quarters where Jim would do his damnedest to convince Len that taking a woman home was the cure for all his ills. When Leonard declined for perfectly acceptable reasons, Jim would call him a spoilsport and offer to make it up to the girls on his own.

They would eagerly accept.

Not tonight. Leonard couldn't bring himself to play the small-talk game tonight. Jim _had_ offered him the provision of slipping out if he found more interesting company… and he had, just not of the variety Jim was expecting.

Just then the kid glanced up and waved at him, gesturing subtly to his companions. Leonard shook his head no, but since when had Jim ever listened to him? Struck with wicked, alcohol-fueled inspiration, Leonard tossed his head to the enigma at his side, smirking back suggestively. It was a pleasure to see _Jim_ gaping in disbelief for once.

"It seems your friend has found more pleasing company." It sounded like Harrison might well be offended on his behalf. Not that Leonard particularly _needed_ anyone taking his side, but the offer was a nice afterthought.

"Only fair. So did I." At the moment that was about all the subtlety and charm he could muster.

Harrison's warm laughter was infectious, Leonard couldn't quite keep a slow-spreading grin from his face; coy flirtation was Jim's way. For himself, Len had always preferred a straightforward approach.

After a final searching look, Jim bent to murmur something in the ear of the woman on his right, smoothly altering their course for the exit. Bless him for his decision to refrain from interfering this once; if he'd even so much as shot him another questioning look, Leonard might well have caved to the voice of reason and kept from uttering the words that came to his lips next.

"Looks to me like he's gettin' out of here."

Harrison's- No, _John's_ \- head tilted marginally, questioning gaze shifting back to Leonard's face as he slowly unfolded to his full height. Holy hell, it had been ages since Leonard had met a man capable of meeting him eye to eye, matching searching stare for stare. Damned if that wasn't doing it for him.

"Will you go with him?" That mischievous quirk of the lips suggested John knew full well the answer to his question.

Mouth dry and pulse hammering out a rapid tattoo, Leonard answered nonetheless, letting just a shade of amusement steal over his face. "Think I'd rather go with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an exam on the 21st, meaning the next update won't come until the 22nd, but it's mostly written so it should be fairly prompt. I'm horrible, I know. :)


	4. The Match Struck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonard learns something of his companion despite the man's reticence, and John finds there is more than one thing Section 31's database doesn't know about McCoy.

The first blast of fresh air was enough to restore at least a smidgeon of clear thinking. Trouble was, Leonard wasn't keen on heeding the voice of common sense, so when caution reasserted itself with pesky doubts about who this man was, where they were headed or what the hell he was in for, Len processed the questions and dismissed them as problems easily solved.

"We should take this back to my place." Wordless assent in the form of a brisk nod was his only answer and Len felt his skin prickling once more. There was something vaguely _off_ here; not in a threatening way or he'd be back at Jim's side in a split-second, but just… _off_.

He risked a glance at his companion, startled when he found John had fixed him with an equally considering look, paying no mind to the crowd but simply expecting that it would flow around him.

"Is something troubling you, Leonard?" Only just loud enough to reach his ears, and damned if he didn't like the way that mouth shaped his name.

"'M I going to have to worry about your Designated?" Leonard's own wrist began to burn sympathetically, he rubbed it thoughtlessly against his jeans to dull the sting. It was guilt that had set him off, just his own misplaced _guilt_ , and what he had to be ashamed of Leonard couldn't even begin to guess. _Khan Noonien Singh_ hadn't made an appearance in all the months since the runes had first resolved themselves, and Leonard still wasn't sure whether he was relieved, concerned or disappointed. He had settled for an unlikely combination of all three.

John laughed aloud, a wild joy beneath it that had Len's lips stretching up into a smile.

"No. I think not." He swept his long sleeve back to show his bare wrist. Len hoped his relief wasn't too obvious, and especially not his pity. For all his convictions, Leonard couldn't help but feel for those poor bastards that fell outside the pale. Starfleet couldn't be seen to discriminate against them, but it was an open secret that Nulls often found themselves passed over for promotion when competing against their Designated peers.

"Solves the problem, doesn't it?" Leonard yanked at his own sleeve; without exposure to his own Designated, no one else could decipher it. Leonard had checked to be certain. Repeatedly.

He'd hardly unbuttoned his cuff before one of John's hands clamped about his wrist, the other catching at his shoulder to draw him into the sort of embrace Leonard was sure would land him in the second circle of hell.

He had never considered how damn _good_ it could be, not having to lean down to catch his partner's lips. John's fingers twined roughly in his shirt, pulling him off balance and into the other man's solid weight. Much better, now he could focus a little less on standing straight and a little more on that wickedly talented mouth and what it could do for him. He hummed contentedly, lips curving into a lazy smile the better to permit a clever tongue entrance. There was an almost soothing quality to the kiss, rather like the first breath after being submerged too long.

Leonard pulled away first, a little dazed, and more than a little turned on. That last drink probably had something to do with the pleasant lethargy spreading through his limbs and the nearly forgotten heat that seemed to be pooling in his gut. It didn't help any that John's tongue darted out to taste his lips as though savoring that last bit of tingling contact between them.

"How the hell d'you expect a man to make it home when you're pulling dirty tricks like that? C'mon, we're going to miss the last transport, and that would be a crying shame."

It sent a thrill up his spine, feeling John's hand settle possessively at the small of his back. He was crossing a lot of his self-imposed boundaries tonight; Len knew part of it was the simple pleasure of rebellion, willfully denying the mark that had never ceased to plague him in one way or another. Another part of it was lust, plain and simple. Leonard had done without often enough, watching while Jim dallied with whomever he pleased or Scotty when he could pull himself away from tinkering long enough. Either way, he intended to get John Harrison out of his system with no messy complications, just sex.

That thought in mind, he lengthened his strides, confident that John would match him step for step. This might not qualify as his wisest decision, but he could see no reason for regret come morning either, and if anyone was entitled to a little indiscretion, surely it was he.

 

 

 

 Beneath his racing thoughts of precisely what he intended for Leonard McCoy tonight and the giddy rush of adrenaline that came of playing his role to perfection, John was surprised to find an undercurrent of relief.

When he had first spotted McCoy leaning against the overhang with a searching gaze fixed on the crowd below, he had taken a moment simply to observe him. There was nothing outwardly spectacular about Leonard McCoy, not from a distance at least. He was tall and fit, his clothes flattered his form to perfection, though it didn't seem he had deliberately arranged it that way. He was effortlessly handsome, and in a purely aesthetic sense, John had admired that.

Latent instinct had only allowed him a few moments to take stock of McCoy before he had finally succumbed to the need to draw nearer, ruthlessly tamping down on an unexpected and powerful urge to touch the man, reassure himself that they were both flesh and blood, not conjured in a dream.

Leonard hadn't so much as reacted to his approach, too fixated on whomever he was watching; his eyes flicked restlessly across the crowd, lingering only a few seconds when he encountered a scene of interest, completely absorbed in his own thoughts.

John wasn't sure he had managed to keep the tinge of jealousy from his tone when he had inquired whether McCoy was waiting for anyone.

He still wondered how much of Leonard's reaction had been surprise and how much was his subconscious reacting to the proximity of his Designated. Every study John had painstakingly unearthed showed an increase of activity in the amygdala and hypothalamus when pairs were introduced to their Designated in a controlled environment. Current thought held that an increase of key hormones was responsible for triggering the response that permitted outsiders to see the proof of a Designated pair.

John had resolved to conduct his own tests in that direction whenever time permitted. It was obvious to him now that a Designated pair, even a pairing between Augment and Human, could only serve to strengthen both parties. The next step would be to ensure that his crew benefited from his new understanding. But at present moment, he was finding it increasingly difficult to think in terms of strategy, not when Leonard had synced his footsteps to John's own, not when he had unconsciously drawn nearer even now that they were alone and well on their way to the transport.

Dark as it was, John could look his fill and none the wiser.

There was so very much to see, from tapered hips and purposeful stride to the way McCoy fiddled with that silver ring about his little finger, the only visible sign of his uncertainty. He dared not speak for fear it would bring Leonard back to his senses; he had very nearly lost him outside the club. If Leonard had lifted his sleeve then and seen the evidence for his own eyes, their tryst might have ended before it even properly began.

John Harrison had developed something of a reputation as a conscientious man, at least as far as any agent of Section 31 could afford to be, but it was Khan that was Leonard's Designated, and it was not his nature to compromise his own work out of some misguided notion of honor. He had lost so much else, this much he would take for himself, selfish though it was.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They chose the seat farthest back in the transport; John couldn't suppress a glimmer of pleasure when Leonard made straight for a corner seat, one that would not be readily visible to anyone boarding. Silently he mourned that it was Leonard's home they returned to rather than his own. His preference would have been to draw McCoy into his own quarters, to see him there, his scent mingling with John's own as they twined in the sheets- a pleasant memory for the days ahead.

John's rooms were sterile, nothing to personalize them; no holos graced the shelves that lined the walls, neither padds or trinkets. His bed was pristine and the sheets tucked in with military precision, all signs of habitation neatly hidden away. It wouldn't be comfortable for a man like McCoy, a man that still wore his grandmother's ring and carried his father's pocket-watch tucked discretely in his pocket, one prone to trotting out the quaint phrases of his youth at a moment's notice.

No. The doctor would be more at ease in his own home, and tonight was dedicated to a study of all things relating to Leonard McCoy. There would be plenty of time later to take McCoy to his home- not the bleak quarters assigned to him by Section 31, but his own ship. One of his preliminary designs that he would yet convince Marcus to build for him and his crew.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

"Hm?" It didn't escape his notice, the way Leonard shivered at the sound of his voice or how they were nestled hip to hip despite the length of the seat.

Leonard chuckled self-deprecatingly, "Old turn of phrase. Something on your mind?"

John was well aware of the phrase itself, only he would much rather have kept Leonard from following the path of his thoughts.

"How far is it to your home?" John rumbled, throat tight with anticipation.

"Twenty minutes." Mischief lightened hazel eyes, showing a tinge of sea-green to its best advantage, "But I'll bet I can make it seem faster."

"Oh?"

The feel of a heated palm against his thigh answered that question, calloused fingertips catching softly in his trousers' material. John shuddered, hearing his breath hitch in the back of his throat when that hand continued its journey down to his knee, up again to tease at his inner thigh, higher still until John didn't bother to stifle a growl.

"Do not tease me, Leonard." It was all the warning he was willing to give.

McCoy only smirked, fingers playing at the seam of his pants, drifting up to trace the length of the zipper. "I wouldn't dream of it, darlin'." Now it was John's turn to shiver, inordinately pleased at the casual endearment when from anyone else's mouth he would have called it a maudlin affectation.

Leonard's knowing fingers were gone the next minute, leaving a chill of awareness in their wake. John glanced ahead, verifying that they were well out of the operator's line of sight before turning to capture Leonard's chin, tilting his head back until he could take a deep kiss, one that left them both panting for air when John finally released him.

"You will pay for that." He murmured, stroking a palm over his Designated's jeans to be sure he took the meaning.

"It was worth it just to watch you squirm."

John had no choice but to move away, putting a few inches between them lest he extract his price immediately. Leonard glanced up coyly from under thick lashes, his dimples betraying that he had noticed John's surreptitious movement.

Leonard glanced down, only then noticing that his sleeve was still unbuttoned, John tensed as his fingers began to tug at the buttons, uncertain whether he would undo them or-

"I don't know a damn thing about you 'sides your name." He slid a button into its mooring and John relaxed gradually. "So, I'm assuming you're with Starfleet? Can't think of any reason you'd be this close to headquarters otherwise."

In a manner of speaking. "Research division. Is there some reason civilians would avoid this district?"

Leonard snorted humorlessly, "Guess you didn't come from the San Fran branch. A handful of drunken cadets'll do as much damage as a riot anywhere else; they get the boot if they take it too far, but why put yourself near 'em if you don't have to?" A careless shrug suggested only a madman would spend his free time anywhere near Starfleet's finest.

"I guess if you're not from these parts you must be here on 'fleet business?"

"Yes. From London." John volunteered.

"Huh. Guess that explains the accent. You've got a funny way with Standard."

John arched an eloquent brow, fixing McCoy with a frosty eye.

Leonard only rolled his eyes despairingly, his faint blush suggesting embarrassment, "Beg pardon. I meant I don't think I've heard your accent before. I like it." He added offhandedly.

John tried not to study his sense of satisfaction too closely.

When Leonard cleared his throat-picking up his line of questioning again- John found himself torn between annoyance that McCoy should force him to prevaricate these little details, and pleasure that he evinced such an interest in the personal affairs of John Harrison.

The idea of Leonard developing any lasting affection for this mask pricked, though. He would have preferred to lay aside this avenue of inquiry until Leonard could know him for his true self rather than a pale shadow.

"All right, research. Not medical or I'd've heard of you." A studying glance, seeking confirmation. John nodded, allowing an inward smile to light his eyes.

"Damn it, man, give me _some_ idea. I've had better luck pulling teeth from Tellarites, and they're damn touchy to a man."

"Ah, but if I told you, I would have to kill you." They laughed together at a jest so overused it hardly qualified as humor. John laughed all the harder knowing that Marcus would demand exactly that if he thought it would serve his cause.

"All right, my best guess is weapons research. I'll leave it there- it's polar opposite from my field."

"Medicine?"

Leonard's gaze warmed with pride, picking out the shards of warm blue in his hazel eyes, "CMO of the USS Enterprise."

"You are a talented man."

"Damned lucky too." No false modesty or pretense of being any less than he was; John delighted in the man's easy confidence.

Both snapped to attention as the transport glided to a stop, making their way out with all haste. As Leonard glanced up to speak with him again, he caught sight of the stars and fell silent, studying what few were visible through the light pollution. That was something that hadn't been mentioned in his file- for all his aviophobia, Leonard McCoy was an adventurer at heart. Plainly after so long earthbound he was craving his galaxies and starlight again.

"They are beautiful." John offered, pleased when Leonard unconsciously wended closer, nudging against him in companionable intimacy.

"Shame about the light, but I can still pick out a constellation or two if I squint. I don't suppose you've had much cause to leave planet?"

If Khan's feet ever left solid earth again it would be too soon. He had spent centuries floating in the black at peace, only to be so rudely awakened by Marcus for his selfish designs. Marcus would pay in blood for his mistake, as would his superiors and those that had volunteered their service to his cause.

"No."

"You're not missing much. When you're not copin' with an alien plague one of the greener ensigns brought aboard then you're just trying to fill the time with something productive. Never a new face, never a story you haven't heard before."

"And yet you chose to ply your trade for Starfleet. You could as easily have been a civilian surgeon."

"Am I that obvious?" Leonard cleared his throat, lowering his voice so it wouldn't carry. "I might've overreacted to a little trouble; it's a habit, one that's served me reasonably well most of the time."

Ah yes, his divorce from his wife of three years- Jocelyn McCoy nee Darnell. It galled John to think that Leonard had not waited for him, but then Leonard would not be a match for Khan if he were a man to accept the vagaries of fate without protest.

"Besides, Earth was starting to feel a little too small. I was gettin' claustrophobic." The wistful undertone in his voice set alarms to ringing, he was thinking again, chasing thoughts John couldn't begin to guess at, perhaps even entertaining second thoughts.

"You are chief medical officer of the flagship, I think that has put you in good stead." John allowed himself to draw nearer, basking in Leonard's proximity.

"Guess so. I can't complain."

 

 

Leonard turned down a smaller street, one whose silence was almost cacophonous in and of itself; the flickering light couldn't quite reach the little corner they headed for, a modest single-unit smothered between two ostentatiously large houses.

"This is where I stay when I'm not working. It's been a while since I made it back here, but it can't be too bad off." The offhand statement was only slightly tempered by the desperate confidence of Leonard's tone. Clearly he elected to stay in the staff dormitory at headquarters more often than not; Khan tucked the information away for later consideration.

It was a tense few moments while Leonard struggled to find his keys, the old-fashioned locking mechanism defeating one set after another until finally Leonard stumbled across the correct choice purely by accident.

McCoy stepped over his own threshold with marked hesitancy, taking in the sight as though it were the first time he had set eyes on it. He hadn't been exaggerating the length of his absence if that cautious step was anything to go by. John took a moment to relish the unnatural warmth of the house, allowing a lingering chill to seep from his bones. Nothing would ever purge the cool bite of stasis from his memory he was sure, but any source of heat was always welcome.

"Lights fifty percent. Temp twenty degrees." Leonard murmured, grinning with satisfaction when he received an immediate response. "There's a relief. I thought environmentals might be out after this long." By the time Leonard glanced back at him, gesturing him into the hall almost by rote, John had managed to stifle his genuine mirth lest McCoy take offense. Somehow this was exactly what he had expected of the doctor's quarters- a threadbare rug that Leonard wiped his shoes on almost without thought, synthwood flooring obviously worn but well-tended. Beyond, John could see a small table dotted with holos and knick-knacks, doubtless mementos collected over a long and varied career.

In short, McCoy had taken great care to ensure that he had a home, something that bore the indelible imprint of his personality even while the exterior might have been mistaken for any of a dozen other houses along the row. John spared a second to wonder what he had made of his office aboard the _Enterprise_ ; it was likely as neat and orderly as the rest of sickbay, nothing there to betray even a hint of an adventurous homebody with a taste for the eclectic.

A muffled snort brought him back to the present; Leonard had already kicked off his shoes, letting them lie next to another pair at the left of the door. "You _can_ come in; I swear I'm not gonna bite."

"Pity." The sudden shade of nervousness in Leonard's posture, hastily concealed, did not escape John's notice. "Perhaps you are concerned _I_ will bite?"

McCoy seemed to debate with himself for a long minute before finally offering an eloquent shrug that somehow managed to convey embarrassment, resignation and amusement all at once. "'It feels a little odd, bringing someone else home. Only Child Syndrome, I'm not used to sharing, but since I'm working on it anyway, care for a drink? I make a mean julep." Leonard started off, clearly expecting him to follow; John obliged at his own leisurely pace, studying the trinkets scattered about as they wended their way to the back of the house.

"I think I've taken enough this evening, but I hope you won't abstain on my account."

"Perhaps on mine if I want to be in decent shape tomorrow. Damn but those Andorian brews hit hard and fast."

It was only fair to offer an escape one last time, "If you are tired-"

Leonard shook his head, "No." The answer was uncustomarily terse for a man that had volunteered so much of himself at the slightest invitation. John didn't have long to wonder at the shortness of the reply, Leonard hesitated again before a closed door, turning about to face him. "Look, I'm not kidding about this being a first for me. I don't bring men home on a whim-" Here he chuckled softly, "Except when I do, apparently." He was rubbing his wrist against his jeans again, a pained furrow between his brows that suggested increasing discomfort.

He sighed deeply, cocking his head at a defiant angle like a man that had heard every argument before and wasn't about to brook them again. "I didn't ask; you know I have a Designation, is that going to be a problem for you? I'm not looking to send anyone on a guilt trip."

Plainly this had been an issue in the past; John damned the one that had put such a wary light in McCoy's eyes. "I am not foolish enough to throw away what another man isn't bold enough to claim."

Tension eased from Leonard's body bit by bit, even as his generous lips quirked in relief. "You didn't tell me you were a poet, Harrison."

"I think John would be appropriate." Appropriate yes, but not anywhere near enough. Already he was imagining what that husky baritone would sound like as it broke whispering the syllables of his true name.

"Force of habit, _John_." He toed the door open, glancing in as though concerned the furniture might have run off while he was absent. Stepping in, John could smell the clean tang of patchouli and a note of something earthy beneath, no overpowering scent of disinfecting chemics such as Section 31 headquarters preferred. Almost he had expected the bitter tang of a ship's sickbay to linger even here in the doctor's room but it was becoming increasingly plain that McCoy liked a stark division between his personal and professional life. Everything in this home was designed to call attention to it.

"Pardon, it's a bit of a mess."

Disarranged, but not cluttered. Chaotic, but far from the 'mess' Leonard thought it. The room should not have agreed with his taste at all, but after months serving in the clinically sterile environment of Marcus' domain, so eerily reminiscent of the lab from his youth, he found the sharp juxtaposition calming.

That sly smirk that had settled on Leonard's mouth was having precisely the opposite effect, though. John allowed himself a pleased murmur when Leonard closed the distance between them to place his lips just _there_ , over the pulse in his neck.

 

 

 

 

Leonard couldn't help but note the way John hesitated at the threshold of his room. Was he moving a little too fast for Harrison's taste? He'd be the first to admit finesse hadn't always been his forte, Leonard had always preferred honest passion over technical skill in his partners. The latter could be learned with time and pleasurable practice, the former wasn't something that could be taught. The twitch at the corner of John's eyelid suggested a memory- not a pleasant one if that brief flash of a grimace was anything to go by.

"Pardon, it's a bit of a mess."

John's expression lightened almost instantaneously, a brief negative twitch of his head saying that it wasn't the state of Len's quarters distressing him. Nerves, maybe? For all he knew this could be a first for John Harrison too; rather unlikely, given the academy's reputation as a veritable hotbed of self-exploration in every sense of the term, but possible. He briefly debated asking, but some questions were better communicated through other mediums.

That thought in mind, Leonard glided forward, pressing his lips to skin that fluttered. John's heart was racing, and Len thought he could hear him catch a breath at the first touch of skin to skin. Testing the waters, Leonard moved farther down, feathering over a strong collar bone beneath starchy clothes. First item of business: get those off.

"Anxious?"

A puff of laughter ruffled through his hair, slender hands settling firmly over his hips to draw him just that bit nearer until it was hard to tell where one body ended and the other began. "Hardly. I might ask the same of you."

Was he? His fingertips were trembling minutely, an oddity in and off itself, and there was a chill that had settled at the base of his spine but far more pressing was the need to touch. "Anxious to get you out of this, maybe." Leonard tugged at constricting fabric to illustrate his point, sliding his thumb over stiff buttons and fabric.

"Then we are in perfect agreement." Leonard's oversensitive nerves had him practically leaping out of his skin at the puff of warm breath against the shell of his ear, the dark chuckle that followed only sending further shocks of sensation through him.

"Sensitive, Leonard?"

"Ah, yes" Between the darkness and the silence any noise was magnified, any touch. He could practically feel the blood racing through his veins, his breath coming markedly shorter already. It had been too damn long, and this was nothing like the few women he had brought home during his time at the academy- the body that he was mapping out with eager hands was broader, more solid, and he was enjoying the changes entirely too much. Leonard had always expected that would be the case; after his Designation had manifested it had confirmed his every suspicion.

That thought brought him up short, a sliver of apprehension lodging in his chest. That had to be the cause for his initial unease at the club; he was yielding ground in what he had always perceived to be a battle with fate. Now his Designation had resolved, he knew his Designated to be a man and no sooner had he learned so than he found a handsome one during a night out and immediately resolved to bring him home.

No. Leonard had always delighted in the Human form, fascinated with its mechanisms and construction; this wasn't a case of surrender so much as it was a long overdue decision that he would no longer limit himself out of some misguided fear of 'losing' to a mark that had always been a part of him. He'd been cutting off his nose to spite his own damn face for too long.

"Second thoughts, Leonard?" John's nimble fingers had paused in their work; when had those buttons come undone anyway? Not that he cared, only he had missed the experience for too much over-thinking on his part- typical.

"None." He reached for John's shirt to return the favor, fingers hovering over the top button with indecision when a new thought occurred to him. Why not show off some of his lesser known skills? Catching John's hands before they could move any lower, Leonard caught his eye and offered him a mischievous grin, feeling unaccountably lighthearted now that his decision was made.

"Y'know, my instructors always said I had a smart mouth. They didn't know the _half_ of it." Just to make certain his point was understood, he dipped down to catch the top button of that pressed shirt with his teeth, carefully plying the button with his tongue until he could tease it through its catch. John's breath caught and held. Glancing up, Leonard could see that his pupil had expanded almost to the point of swallowing the iris, a warm blush just pinkening the skin of his throat. If that wasn't an enthusiastic endorsement of his skills, Leonard didn't know what would be.

Feeling considerably more confident than a moment ago, Leonard pushed that obtrusive overcoat off John's shoulders, humming approval when the man allowed it to drop forgotten to the floor.

The next button was a trifle more difficult, tucked in the folds of John's shirt as it was, but not as hard as Len pretended. It was only a rare sort of pleasure to watch someone come undone so easily without even a touch.

As he moved down once again, tongue brushing against exposed skin, John finally remembered himself, gliding his hands over Leonard's shoulders and winding into the loose fabric until Leonard could feel the tension in his grip. By the fourth, John had begun to pant softly, muscles jumping with tension when Leonard laid a soothing hand against his stomach. He couldn't resist sucking softly on the last button, catching John's gaze with his own and refusing to look away while he slipped it from its mooring. He was well aware of the picture he presented, lips flushing and eyes dilating with arousal, the faintest sheen of saliva escaping the corner of his mouth.

When John's eyes narrowed, fingers flying down to attack the doctor's shirt once more, Leonard finally knelt. John froze once more when he leaned forward to press his lips to the clasp of fine dress pants, allowing his tongue to trace a meandering line up the zipper. He felt lewd, flushing with embarrassment as much as excitement, but with John's otherwise cool blue eyes fixed on him with such heat Leonard wasn't about to resist his impulses. Not since Jocelyn had he found a partner willing to indulge his shameless moods, but John was actively encouraging him with all those breathless sighs and twitching muscles. He had nothing to fear here, not gossip or censure; this was only one night and then John would be back to London and Leonard to his endless reports and late nights with Jim.

It was more temptation than any mortal man could be expected to resist.

"D'you want to see my best trick?"

John sighed unsteadily, regaining his composure long enough to offer an invitingly appreciative smile, "Oh, yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Titles are not my forte, my beta gets all the credit for this one. This was nearly "Come on Baby, Light my Fire" by default.


	5. A Fallen Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonard's Designation makes an unexpected and unwelcome appearance. Fortunately, Khan has planned for this exact moment.
> 
> Alternate title: Smut chapter, the first.

Not in all his idle thoughts could John have conjured this image: Leonard kneeling at his feet, but not with an air of humility- there was arrogance in the set of his shoulders, satisfaction in the rakish twist of his lips, and an unmistakably admiring gleam in his eye that was wholeheartedly returned. John was pleased to find that even after his dedicated research, McCoy could still surprise him. He looked forward to seeing what else had been omitted from Starfleet's personnel files.

Leonard's tongue flicked out to taste his lips before he clamped it harshly in his teeth, stifling what must have been a nervous response. Just as quickly he recovered and turned the gesture into a deliberate temptation; John pulled at the strands of hair caught in his grip, a mute encouragement or admonishment, however Leonard chose to interpret it.

He swallowed a pleased hiss when McCoy's hands grasped roughly at his hips, the moist heat of his breath puffing against bare skin while his lips whispered over the clasp of trousers that had been too tight since he first laid eyes on this infinite riddle. John didn't bother suppressing a gasp when plump lips finally closed over the fastening, Leonard's tongue playing with the catch until it began to give. He paused only for a second when John's palms crept down to his shoulders, balancing himself while he thrust leisurely against his mouth, blatantly mimicking sex.

It was with no small amount of satisfaction that he felt Leonard's breathing turn to harsh pants, his rhythm adapting to John's own until they moved in unison, sensual verging upon the decadent. Finally the clasp gave way; McCoy spared no time catching the zipper in his teeth to pull it free, his hands sliding the last barrier between them to the floor.

"Leonard."

McCoy started, sending him a look that managed to be both questioning and impatient. John was beginning to get the sense that Leonard was a man that could never be content to settle upon one mood at a time, blessed or cursed to experience every emotion as it struck him.

"May I take your shirt?" John gave an experimental tug at the offending article, watching Leonard's eyes light with pleasure.

"'Course. Not fair otherwise."

After the show he had been treated to, John felt some repayment was owed. Leonard's impatience was obvious, but he was determined to take his time mapping out every inch of this body. There was also the small matter of the Designation, it should have manifested plainly at this point. It would be to his benefit if he were the one to 'discover' it; when McCoy's guilt threatened to interfere, John could use all that latent passion and impatience against him -he was more vulnerable than he knew.

Slowly John slipped each button loose, forcing Leonard to lean back so he could reach those farther down. A bared throat was a temptation he had to fight to ignore, but when he saw Leonard's compulsive swallow nothing in all the world could have stopped him from chasing the play of muscles with his teeth. Surrendering to the inevitable, John pulled Leonard back to his feet and yanked his shirt carelessly from his waistband, stripping it roughly from his shoulders as rich laughter filled the room.

This would be the moment of truth. Once he peeled away those cuffs, McCoy would see that he was complete, but there would be nothing to tell him it was his Designated that held him even now. Carefully John undid those final buttons, allowing that last barrier to fall away without help. He could feel the moment Leonard registered his Designation in the sudden stiffness of his body, the aborted motion to pull away. He dared not move too swiftly: McCoy was skittish as any wild animal while he processed this newest development, seeking a way to flee without causing undue harm.

Tenderly John raised the marked wrist between them, betraying none of the surprise Leonard would expect to see.

"I didn't know." Leonard murmured, beginning to pull away as his shock wore off, John could see the vague comprehension dawning in his eyes, the knowledge that at some point this day he must have been very near his Designated. He truly had no idea.

John didn't allow him to pull away; it was clear McCoy wanted nothing more than to cover what he had always considered a mark of shame, but if he were permitted to do so now that shame would always haunt him.

"Leonard." His Designated blinked sharply, opening his mouth to deliver an explanation even he couldn't understand, but John cut him off with his next words: "I told you, I am not a man to throw away what another is too foolish to claim."

The struggle was there in his eyes, part of him wanting to accept those words at face value and forget his troubles until morning, but Leonard McCoy was also a man that valued fairness, and in his mind the scales had just tipped beyond any redemption. John could see resignation stealing over his face; he was preparing to put distance between them, and that was something John could not permit. Instinctively he raised Leonard's wrist to his mouth, tracing the familiar letters with his tongue, whispering words there he knew his Designated was not ready to hear.

Leonard's resolve faltered, the pulse beneath his lips steadied, tension seeping from his muscles with excruciating slowness. John did not stop until he had ceased trying to pull away, but instead leaned forward into the contact. He met Leonard's eyes, noting the return of color to his cheeks and the way his lashes had dipped low again, no longer staring in disbelief. There was a melancholy about him that had not been present minutes before and John mourned the loss of the lively man that had brought him home, but this was only the first night of many between he and his Designated; he would learn every facet of Leonard's moods in the days to come.

"I never expected this." Leonard murmured; he was obviously torn between accepting the oblivion a few hours in a stranger's arms could afford and wrestling with this new development. Much as Leonard's intellect attracted him, there were times John wished the man was less prone to introspection. Still, if he had learned anything of his match tonight, it was that the man was an unrepentant sensualist. He would just have to make sure that Leonard gave in to his selfish impulses.

"Did you not say you had a Designation?" John's lips ghosted over his ear in that same way Leonard had obviously delighted in at the club. True to form, a pleasurable tremor wracked his body and this time he allowed himself to lean into the support so willingly offered.

"It wasn't clear tonight. I swear it wasn't. It must have been at the club. That's the only way this could…" Leonard's fingers had begun to pluck at the buttons of his own cuff; John wondered if it might not be a latent instinct driving him, but it hardly mattered since his own was so thoroughly obscured. McCoy relaxed further when at last his cuff came undone to show nothing but bare skin. John smiled against his neck, placing another soothing kiss there, content to let McCoy do as he would.

The other cuff fell away, exposing yet another bare wrist. Leonard hesitated barely a second before sliding the shirt down his arms and casting it away.

He grew impossibly harder under Leonard's dedicated scrutiny; there was no shade of clinical detachment in his eyes and when Leonard dared at last to touch him he could feel no lingering professionalism in it.

When Leonard's lips curved back into that daring smile John recognized from the transport he knew the victory was his. "T'hell with it."

He sealed the declaration with a kiss that was equal parts defiance and seduction, the very soul of temptation as far as John was concerned. He nipped at Leonard's tongue playfully, soothing the sting when Leonard gasped against his mouth; the feel of those damnable pants against his bare skin was almost more than his overwrought nerves could bear, and he was reluctantly forced to pull away.

Leonard chased his mouth for a second longer, savoring that last touch before he finally allowed him to escape. John reveled in Leonard's breathless laughter when he immediately attacked the belt at his waist, pushing him back until he felt his knees hit the bed. He pushed that final inch and Leonard sprawled beneath him, finally assisting with button and zipper until they interfered constantly with each other's progress.

"Here I thought you wanted to see me do one better." Leonard glanced down to his length, pure mischief in every line of his face. John couldn't resist another kiss as he leaned down to strip the offending material away.

"Of course, but as you said, it is only fair we should be equal."

"Hmm. So I did." John understood now the way Leonard trembled to hear his voice; that husky lilt in his ear would have brought a lesser man to his knees, as it was he was still tempted to the edge of his resolve. "But I'd say we're fairly equal now."

Leonard pushed his heel into the nearest knee and yanked desperately, twisting to reverse their positions. John stifled his reflexes with a split second to spare; he knew it would have been a simple thing to continue the roll and end up where they had started from, but if anyone were entitled to his trust on so frail an acquaintance it would be this man. Something in his expression must have given away his momentary chagrin because Leonard was already smoothing a placating hand across his skin, unconsciously assuming the tone John thought he must use on traumatized patients.

"All right, darlin'?" The half-smile said he wasn't sure of what he had seen, for which John gave silent thanks. It was unlike him to let slip an unguarded expression, but his discipline had suffered for all these months under Marcus' direction.

He leaned up to trace a line of kisses up Leonard's unprotected collar bone, following it to his shoulder and still further up his neck. "Of course." It troubled him that he could not offer any words of endearment. Kind words came so easily to Leonard's lips, but the only endearment John could think to offer him would fall instead from Khan's: Beloved. How could he not love Leonard as he loved himself when his own skin bore the mark that said they two comprised a whole? Anything less than the absolute truth would not be authentic, and an honest man like Leonard would hear the stilted falseness in his tone immediately.

Restless hazel eyes scanned his face, searching for an outward sign of his thoughts before Leonard finally met his gaze, "God, you're beautiful."

As he was intended to be. His creators had taken great care to ensure Augments would be superior in every way, but in this he felt they had miscalculated. There was a natural beauty about Leonard that cried out to be thoroughly explored; while his own features remained unchanged, Leonard's every expression revealed some facet of him that might never be visible again. There was no way to say all he thought, and even had it been a possibility, John preferred the concrete evidence of action to rhetoric.

He let his hands speak for him as they twined in Leonard's hair, grip tight enough to betray his need but gentle enough to remind him that this was a Natural he dealt with and deserving of care. John hissed at the feel of Leonard's fingertips following the curve of his hips up to his ribs, stroking back down again over smooth flesh. Once that same skin had been covered in scars, and if he didn't know it for an impossibility he would have sworn Leonard found them, his fingers roamed over some spots longer than others, looking for all the secrets his eyes wouldn't show.

Lost in the mesmerizing touch after so long without contact, John didn't have time to brace for that first searing lash of tongue against the sensitive skin of his cock. His gasp was the closest to a prayer he had uttered in his lifetime, and all the encouragement Leonard needed.

If he had expected mercy, he received none. One of Leonard's hands pushed him back, urging him to the bed without hesitation. John complied, dazed and enthralled with the sudden influx of sensation: a warm palm wrapping about his length, the cool silver of that ring Leonard never removed a startling contrast… it was nearly too much to be borne.

John had expected this encounter to be a rushed, frantic attempt to take the edge off their mutual need; he could not have been more mistaken. Leonard's hand stroked up his length, soothing and inciting by turns, his wrist twisting firmly as he came to the head until John surrendered to his need and bucked into the demanding grip, chasing the sensations as best he was able. All the while, Leonard watched him with a fey smile hovering about his lips, seeing every involuntary twitch, feeling the brief tremors that racked him.

Another too-slow lick, Leonard's tongue following the vein that ran up the underside of his length with careful precision until John released his hair, twining his fingers in the coverlet lest he forget himself. Leonard seemed determined to drive him out of his mind, lingering at his sensitive tip to lave the pre-cum beading there. His smirk was the only warning he gave before swallowing down John's length, all wet heat and the desperate flux of a wet tongue against over-stimulated skin.

John managed a shuddering breath, released on a groan when Leonard pulled him deeper, his ringed hand cupping heavy testicles, playing them in a grip that was at once too much and not enough. He fought the temptation to arch into the touch, gripping his support ever tighter, hissing increasingly shallow breaths between his teeth, but he was offered no reprieve. The first teasing scrape of teeth was enough to destroy what control he had finally gained, and John gasped out a muffled curse as he came, still fighting the compulsion to writhe into the pleasurable torment.

When the creeping blackness faded from the edge of his vision, Leonard was still lying at the edge of the edge of the bed, one calloused hand rubbing circles into the skin of his calf. From the flush on Leonard's face and the methodical flex of his muscles it was not difficult to guess what occupied the other. The sight was enough to rid him of the creeping lethargy in his veins.

Leonard uttered a murmur of protest when John pulled away from the gentle stroke of hand, leaning down once more to catch the taste of himself on gasping lips. As expected Leonard opened to him immediately, ever the tactile sensualist; much as he enjoyed these interludes, John found he craved far more than Leonard had offered though hopefully not more than he was willing to provide.

John pulled back just far enough to feel the puff of his own breath against Leonard's slack lips, "Will you fuck me?"

It was impossible to miss the way he froze at the question: the shocked widening of his eyes or the jerk of surprise that sent his muscles leaping, but there was unmistakable interest reflected in that gaze too. With a visible effort, Leonard stopped the movement of his hand, still panting with an eagerness that was nearly John's undoing. As it was, he couldn't resist guiding Leonard up onto the bed, moving back and pulling Leonard forward to straddle his hips so that he could run his hands over the expanse of flesh that he had criminally neglected for too long.

"God, lube. Don't have any."

John suppressed the brief stab of disappointment, but there were always other avenues open to them. It was particularly hard to regret when Leonard was so obviously fighting the temptation to rut against him in pursuit of his own release. Practiced fingers ran down the length of his sternum, still farther to his stomach, watching the skin twitch and shift beneath his teasing. John allowed himself a moment to bask in the nigh reverent touch before he returned the favor, thumbs skirting up along Leonard's hips and over his ribcage to the flushed nipples he suspected would be sensitive.

If Leonard's stifled cry of surprise was anything to go by, his suspicions were correct. Leonard stopped moving, lips moving soundlessly in what John could only suppose was some effort to lessen his reaction; that he could never permit. A sharp pinch and soothing caress brought Leonard back to him, casting him a look that would have been chastising if he could have mustered the indignation, as it was he showed only a fraying self-control.

It really wasn't fair, after all. John intended far more encounters than this, why not take this chance to give Leonard what he had been denying himself for too long?

Leonard's arms trembled with effort when John relented enough to take him in hand, allowing Leonard to thrust into his grip, watching him come apart for no more than the touch of a hand. It was all too easy to imagine what he would look like, coming apart as they fucked.

"Husker's lotion." Leonard gasped out, trying desperately to keep his pace measured and draw out the encounter as long as he could. John offered no quarter, delighting in the increasingly breathless pleas and curses that dropped unnoticed from Leonard's lips.

"Lotion?" John prompted, tightening his grip at Leonard's base and running an unforgiving hand to his tip. Leonard keened softly, the sound cut off with an effort of will that was obvious to its only audience.

"Ah! For surgeons. Safe for lube-" He was entirely too articulate for a man that had gone so long without. John twisted his palm slowly, increasing the friction between them, feeling the wetness of Leonard's pre-cum as the glide became easier. Someday he would take the time to drive Leonard past any semblance of speech; he'd delight in reducing him to no more than a creature of blind sensation, but as it was the offer was too tempting.

John slowed his ministrations, no longer resisting when Leonard slowed and eventually stopped, panting desperately above him while he steadily worked down from the edge.

"Where is it?" John murmured, knowing the question would be understood. His own voice sounded husky and ragged at the edges. Unsurprising, his own control was no more than a fragile illusion that Leonard was threatening to take from him at any moment.

"Hall tree, I think. In the basket." Leonrd quickly gave up on fetching it himself, wincing slightly when he tried to move, blushing from the roots of his hair when John offered him a commiserating smile even while he grinned unapologetically back. It was the dichotomy Leonard represented that was always going to draw him back, John knew.

It was only a minute's work to find the bottle he needed, and loathe to leave Leonard's side for longer than necessary, John didn't linger. Any thought of exploring Leonard's home or taking stock of what more he had to offer was forgotten in the heat of the moment. Leonard greeted him from his place among the blankets, still shamelessly nude and making no effort to conceal his body beneath the blankets. John covered him, sprinkling nips over exposed skin, tracing patches of what might have been scars with too-gentle fingertips.

He intended to have the story of those marks from Leonard's own mouth one day, but for tonight it could wait. Leonard was already shifting impatiently beneath him, hands grabbing for his hips, trying to hold them closer together, arching into John's touches unreservedly.

"Enough, please." Leonard groaned. "I'm too close."

Tempted as he was to pursue that statement, John refrained. He was aching and desperate himself, and while the thought of pinning Leonard down and making him come with no more than his touch alone was certainly intoxicating, he far preferred the idea of sharing this last intimacy together.

The sound of the bottle's top clicking open was nearly deafening in the silence; he felt more than heard Leonard catch his breath and hummed approvingly at the slick feel of the viscous liquid against his fingertips. It was a revelation, the way Leonard's motion stuttered and halted at the first touch of skin-warmed lotion, hissing a breath between his teeth that John echoed not a second after.

" _Fuck_." Leonard collapsed against him, bracing his elbows to either side of John's head, planting kisses down his jawline while one hand twined encouragingly in his hair. He tugged harder than intended when John ran a taunting fingertip across his slit, smearing the makeshift lube liberally. Whispered apologies and wordless enticements puffed against the curve of his ear, Leonard's slight scruff abrading the sensitive skin of his neck, sending goosebumps prickling along his skin.

"Keep this up and I'm not going to last." Laughter mingled with the words, but John could feel the strain in his movements, hear an edge of earnestness in his tone that was all the warning he needed. John rolled his hips, shifting Leonard so that he could reach for the bottle once more; Leonard stopped him, neatly extricating it from his grip with a graceful movement that belied his state. "Let me?"

"Yes." John murmured against the skin of his shoulder, tracing that same spot he had run his teeth over only a few moments ago. Leonard swallowed sharply, forcing himself to sit back while he squeezed the liquid onto his fingers, any patience for finesse long since gone. John took a perverse pride in that; by all accounts Leonard McCoy was a man that valued discipline, for him to surrender it now was a sight John had not expected to see so soon- he intended to provoke the reaction as often as possible.

The first touch of Leonard's fingers was enough to make him grab for the sheets again, hips spreading unconsciously to permit a more intimate touch. The first crude thrust of fingers was unforgiving, two fingers slipping into him, pushing past resistance firmly. John arched into the touch, thankful that McCoy had read him well enough to understand that tenderness was the last thing on his mind.

"Good?" Leonard murmured, twisting sharply, studying him again for any signs of discomfort or uncertainty. He was ever an observer, and it was _maddening_.

" _Fuck_ me." John was not a man given to profanity, but all that was forgotten when Leonard's free hand clasped his length once more, stroking too gently for the express purpose of driving him past all hope of endurance, John was sure.

He didn't bite back the sharp gasp of satisfaction when Leonard finally complied, sliding into him with a twist of his hips that found that aching spot inside him, making him twist into the invasion, palms closing on Leonard's hips to hold him there almost too tightly. There would be bruises come morning he was sure, the outline of his fingertips against delicate skin; he was equally sure that Leonard was far past caring, shamelessly chasing his own release. John moved with him, slipping into a familiar pattern of give and take, meeting the push of Leonard's hips with his own and hearing nothing more than their erratic breathing or the occasional creak of the bed's supports.

Leonard jerked, stroking his palm over John's tip almost too roughly, the slick of lube awakening nerves already frayed; Leonard froze, face twisting into an expression of pleasurable agony as release overtook him. The sight was enough to tip John over the edge, heels digging into the mattress while he fought for that last moment of sensation -the warmth of his own slick coating his skin. Under other circumstances he might have been repulsed, except that Leonard was still thrusting gently, coming down from his own high with relief writ large across his face.

The frantic need abated, both of them relaxing into each other's presence, Leonard offered a tired smile, face still flushed and a light sheen of sweat covering his body. John was convinced he had never seen a more alluring sight. His own breath was coming short, not from fatigue but excitement: his Designated lay boneless and replete in his arms, glowing with satisfaction. If Leonard winced at the sight of the name scrawled across his wrist and turned it swiftly from his view then John could only be pleased at the visible manifestation of the connection between them.

Leonard hadn't allowed that mark to come between them, and while some primal part of John's mind objected, he found himself in awe again that this Natural should so thoroughly defy the idea of fate. It seemed there was very little Leonard would permit to stand in the way of what he decided he wanted. It gave John hope that there might yet be a place for Khan Noonien Singh when he shed this mask.

"It's late. I have a noon shift, but you should stay- at least 'til morning. " Leonard whispered, almost as though he were afraid of breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

"I will." John agreed, and there was more of a promise in it than Leonard could have known. He sighed with disappointment when Leonard gradually pulled away from him, slipping from the bed with practiced ease.

A chuckle drifted back to him, "Come on, don't fuss. I'll be back in a minute." Decidedly too articulate. He would count it among his chief accomplishments if he could ever rob McCoy of his words for more than a few minutes. Ever the strategist, John began to review Leonard's every reaction, assembling a catalog of ideas for their next encounter; next time Leonard would not find it so easy to recover himself.

 

 

 

 

 

Sparks of color flashed before Leonard's eyes, the bright light of the bathroom making him squint. He tried to ignore the Designation on his wrist, glaring evidence that all should not be well. The one night he decided to take a stranger home he had met his Designated as well. At the club, obviously, but with so many in the crowd how the hell was he supposed to guess who?

Did he even care? He'd made it this far, and for all that Designated pairs claimed bonded sex was better, he had no complaints about tonight. Both he and John had been a little rushed, a little too desperate to truly savor each other, but this was only one night after all, and still his legs were trembling with the effort of holding him up, aftershocks of sensation racing through his limbs. It had been damn good in ways Len hadn't even realized he needed.

It had nearly been his undoing when John had taken such an interest in his Designation, shame and arousal mixing in equal measure; something about the worshipfulness of the act had been almost… sacrilegious. A strange feeling since Leonard had never counted himself a particularly spiritual man. The mark tingled now, continuously drawing his gaze back to it. Should he cover it immediately? There were bandages in the cupboard that would work well enough in the short term.

His hand hovered above the latch for a few seconds before he finally discarded the idea. John had already seen what he was tempted to hide, there would be no point in concealing it now. His uniform should hide it well enough tomorrow, at least until he found time to pick up one of those pernicious bands Starfleet's Designated pairs wore. He didn't relish showing this to Jim; he'd know straightaway that Bones had been concealing it for awhile, and given how forthcoming he'd been about his own mark, this secret would hurt him. Jim would find out eventually, though. Captains were permitted the details of their subordinates' Designated status, might as well report it groundside before it became an issue.

Despite the anxiety that still gnawed at the back of his mind, weariness was quickly setting in, and no small amount of comfort. There was at least one man that didn't give a damn Leonard McCoy was supposed to be mystically connected to someone else, and he was even now waiting in a bed that for the first time in years wouldn't be empty and cold.

He wet down a washcloth, lingering over the task far longer than needed. Some childish impulse made him scrub at that name once more, scratching his nails over it and hissing dire imprecations. It wouldn't wash clean, it never would, but Leonard had never wanted it _gone_ so badly as he did now. He would have given his right eye to see only bare skin, or even another name, one that he recognized and could deal with on his own.

When the skin was pink and raw Leonard finally stopped; it was no use reawakening old, destructive habits he had thought long since vanished. Especially not tonight- it wasn't fair to him or to John to pretend this hadn't happened. Leonard dimmed the lights and stepped out, making his way back to the bed quietly lest John had fallen asleep.

John was sitting up against the headboard, watching him with hawk's steady gaze. Leonard only just kept himself from deliberately concealing his Designation; he saw John take note of the gesture, a frown almost settled on his lips, vanishing just as fast. Leonard wondered at it but chose not to comment, neither one of them had any right to feel territorial; this was only supposed to be the night, except that he was rather hoping night would stretch into morning, and if John were going to be in San Fran much longer, maybe they could stretch it farther still- at least until London came calling again.

Leonard slipped in beside him unobtrusively. He would have been glad to tend to John himself, but this was not a man that invited care. "I thought you might like to clean up."

John nodded, and Leonard pretended not to see the hand that reached for the cloth, tentatively reaching out to stroke it across John's stomach. Hearing no objection he became bolder, taking satisfaction in the way John gradually relaxed beneath his touch. There had been something stiff and held back in the man's bearing all night, even when he'd been mostly lost to pleasure. That facade was melting away slowly, his eyes assuming the hooded look Leonard associated with ease.

"You need the alarm?"

"No." John matched his tone, casual yet intimate. Their conversation seemed mundane after what they had done, but it comforted Len as much as John.

"Good. I'd just as soon sleep in."

John hummed his agreement, not even twitching when Leonard's touch moved lower. Good God the man was half-hard again; Leonard bit back a quip about the stamina of Starfleet's finest, but only just. John must have seen the mischief on his face because his own lips quirked into a shadow of a smile. Come to it, that was the best he had seen from John tonight- melancholy seemed to be his constant companion. Leonard understood all too well, but that didn't prevent the sudden surge of misplaced protectiveness. If ever there was a man less in need of protection, Leonard hadn't met him; if he wasn't careful, he'd turn into the mother hen Jim constantly accused him of being.

He slipped out of bed quickly, disposing of the washcloth and returning to the warmth of the sheets as quickly as he could. He shoved aside the increasingly faint stirrings of guilt and fell easily onto the arm John offered, awake just long enough to feel the solid weight of another body pressing against his back. No. He couldn't bring himself to regret this decision even now, and it was with a light heart that Leonard finally succumbed to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me that I completely forgot to give credit where credit is due for the title of this fic- and chapter, no less. *facepalm*
> 
> "The Body and the Soul know how to play, in that dark world where gods have lost their way." From "The Partner" by Theodore Roethke. 
> 
> Chapter title comes from "In a Dark Time" by the same poet: "A fallen man, I climb put of my fear...free in the tearing wind."


	6. There's Got to be a Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's always a morning after. For Leonard, it's the first of its kind, but hopefully not the last.

Leonard wasn't sure what he had been expecting come morning. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd initiated a casual encounter and inevitably it had ended with him slinking back to the _Enterprise_ by nightfall, his shift on shore-leave already fading to a vague memory. Ever the gentleman, he had always taken care to at least wake his partner and murmur a few complimentary words, maybe steal a few kisses before he left.

Yet when he woke, midmorning sunlight was creeping across his floor, casting the room in a dream-like glow calculated to illuminate the planes and contours of the man still very much sleeping across from him, hips tangled enticingly in thin, cotton sheets.

He wasn't inclined to complain; what red-blooded man would when offered so much bare skin for his eyes alone? Leonard snuggled farther into his blankets, his shift didn't start 'til well into the afternoon anyway, so why bother getting out of bed until he was ready for brunch? Besides, there was no telling how much longer he might have to bask in the company of another warm body; unlike most mornings, his sheets weren't crisp and cold and there was a slight dip in his mattress that gave it a softness normally lacking.

No. He damn well wasn't going to move until nature made him.

Sometime during the night he must have migrated to the other side of the bed; his head lay comfortably on its own pillow and John's fingertips were twitching in his sleep, almost like he was still reaching out for something, or someone, that had slipped his grasp. On a whim, Leonard shuffled nearer, easing back in to the embrace he had shrugged off in his sleep- John's twitching immediately stopped, the slight frown-lines between his brow smoothing out.

Unbidden, a memory came to mind of Jim solemnly telling him never to trust a man that frowned even in his sleep. Kind people, Jim swore, always looked innocent, lines of care eased by sleep's hand. The wicked bastards that could still sleep under the weight of their sins never looked so helpless.

Of course, since Jim had been well on his way to drunk and getting over his breakup with an Andorian cadet, Leonard had simply poured him another drink and nodded agreeably.

More relevant memories flooded in: the feel of those fingers tangled in his hair, of demanding lips against his own and the desperate tug of nimble hands urging him to move faster. His mouth curved into a satisfied smile as he stretched, savoring the pleasant twinge of small muscles that hadn't been so thoroughly worked in ages. Now that his body was finally beginning to wake up he could feel small bruises checking in, a tingling in his lips that said he wouldn't be able to hide what he had been up to and at last, mother nature checking in to say that lazing around all morning was not an option.

Regretfully, Leonard slid out of John's reassuringly sturdy arms once more, padding to the bathroom and seeing to his needs as quickly as he could. The tile was cold against his bare feet, shocking him awake until the very last of sleep's cobwebs were dusted away, leaving him with a vague feeling of unease. He contemplated it while he brushed his teeth, watching his Designation flash in the mirror, taunting him with its newest mystery. This time, he nearly had the strength to ignore it. Every time his eyes landed on the curve of those letters, he was reminded of Khan's- dammit- _John's_ tongue following the tracery, uncaring of what that damn mark meant.

He replayed that moment again and again in his mind's eye until he ceased to worry at the problem of how the hell he could have bumped into _Khan Noonien Singh_ without knowing. So much for all that bullshit about primal connections and instant understanding. Another fairytale debunked, and Leonard couldn't think of a more satisfying way of going about it. He'd be sure to tell Jim as soon as he saw him again. Or maybe not, romantic that he was, Jim wouldn't thank him for it.

Leonard wished him the best of luck, but he thought he had the longer end of the stick. There was none of the usual senseless guilt plaguing him this morning, none of the remorse he had still half-expected to feel upon waking.

When he strode out to find John awake and watching him from the bed with open appreciation, the last of Leonard's misgivings vanished. "Mornin'."

"Good morning." John purred, voice still rough with sleep. Leonard was proud he kept his knees from buckling until he was safely back to the bed. John didn't object when he fell into it gracelessly, swarming across the expanse between them so that he could steal a few more moments of intimacy with another human being. He was a greedy man, but John wasn't objecting; he helped to close the distance between them, tucking Leonard back into the crook of his arm without any regard for his circulation.

"I wasn't sure you'd stay." Leonard hadn't meant it to sound accusatory, but John's smooth palm ceased its promising glide up his hip.

"Would you rather I hadn't?" His voice was entirely neutral, but something in John's stillness suggested he had a vested interest in the answer.

"'M glad you did. Are you gonna stick around to eat?"

John's hand tightened on his hip for the merest second, "Yes."

Whatever playful response he had intended was lost somewhere between lungs and vocal chords. Hell, he'd known the man was a looker last night at the bar, but he hadn't quite been prepared for the sight that confronted him by daylight.

John's eyes were an unnatural blue, paler even than Jim's and lit with the same endlessly inquiring light; his dark hair made the contrast all the more startling. High cheekbones and a patrician nose gave him an air of haughtiness, not easily achieved when one was still naked, tousled, and laying in another man's bed. Leonard had to admire his self-possession, even as some wicked imp tried to prod him into wrecking it. Was it his fault he'd always had a weakness for reserved men come undone?

Leonard forced his mind back to the present, determined to be a pleasant host."D'you need a shower? You're welcome to mine." _We could share_. He bit that one back, barely. Heaven knew he could use a few minutes to sort himself out, and John was probably feeling the same way.

Except that when Leonard tried to pull away John held him fast, eyes drifting over his face, drinking in every nuance of his surprised expression. "Of course." Leonard jumped at the unexpected words. What the hell was he responding to again? Ah. Shower. Right.

"Left knob is hot. Right is cold. I'll get a start on breakfast if you're inclined to let me go."

He huffed a soft laugh when John nuzzled into the curve of his neck, free hand pulling him nearer. "And if I chose to keep you?" He punctuated the question with one of those lingering kisses he'd indulged in so often the night before. Leonard tilted his head back, reveling in the touch; he hadn't woken up with anyone since the split with Jocelyn, and damned if he wasn't feeling the ache of that now.

"We'd get nothing done, I'd miss my shift, and I'd blame you." The words would have been far more intimidating if he could have been stern rather than wistful.

John sighed against his skin, pulling away with visible reluctance; much as Leonard regretted a missed opportunity, that didn't stop him admiring the view when John slid out of bed. Good God. Tight muscles coupled with a languid grace he had personally never been able to achieve. John cast about for his clothes, bending to snatch them from the floor without a hint of self-consciousness; for some reason that brought a light blush to his face that only darkened when John caught his eye and flashed him an enigmatic smile.

Leonard's breath stuttered to a halt when John leaned over the edge of the bed, pressing pale lips against his ear to whisper the most promising words he'd heard all morning: "Join me."

"Not fair trying to tempt a man twice." Just to prove that John wasn't the only one capable of being provocative, Leonard made an exaggerated show of arching into a stretch, groaning with satisfaction. "Besides, I'm starving and I need my coffee stat."

John's hastily concealed pout was definitely one of the greatest compliments he had received to date. He took a perverse pleasure in grinning back, "If you don't hurry, I'll drink your share of the coffee."

"By all means, I don't drink it."

"Sacrilege." Leonard pushed himself up, deftly maneuvering around John and making his way to the dresser pushed against the wall. Damned if he was going to dress all the way yet, but a pair of sweats wouldn't be amiss. The scrubs the 'fleet mandated for groundside work had such short sleeves, he'd have no choice but to wear a binding to cover his Designation; Christine and M'benga would have a heyday trying to guess at his sudden change of convictions. It wouldn't take them more than ten minutes combined to figure him out.

This was all so much more complicated than he had ever counted on.

A pang of remorse had him pausing before the dresser to stare vacantly into the mirror; he didn't see the guarded look John had fixed on him, tension returning to every line of his body.

Somewhere out there some poor bastard was going through the same crisis as he. Khan Noonien Singh had to be every bit as confused, probably a little hopeful, maybe a little distressed. It wasn't every day a Designation resolved with no sign of a matching Designated. They had to have met at the bar, and presumably Khan would have noticed his own altered status by now. Would he report it? If he did, Leonard could track him down and…

And what? Confess that he'd just had the best sex of his life with a man he had known for all of ten minutes before deciding to take him home? Admit that even with the proverbial itch scratched and no commitment between them he was hoping for an encore? There wasn't exactly an etiquette guide to informing the other half of one's soul that someone else had crept into their place overnight. That was exactly how it had happened with Jocelyn- with him one day and gone the next, regretful and relieved all at once.

Obviously he was as damaged as his parents had suspected. Here he had the chance to track down the one being in all the universe that might understand every facet of him, the one that he had hoped and prayed for as a child, even sought as a man…and he was turning his chance down because there was something about a stranger that had captured his interest. Fickle. He was so goddamn _fickle_ that he couldn't even-

"Leonard."

John's soft voice yanked him from his brown study in a split second. Leonard met his gaze in the mirror, bending to open a drawer and pull out his sweats; no shame was forthcoming, not for any of his actions, and somehow that felt like the greatest betrayal of all.

"D'you need something?"

"You seem troubled."

"I just need that coffee. I'm not even human until I've had it." Leonard forced a laugh, but he could see John didn't buy it for a second. He wasn't about to come clean with all these thoughts, not after the trouble John had gone to last night to assure him this Designation meant nothing. That would be presuming entirely too much on such a frail acquaintance.

Jim. Jim would understand. He'd have to speak with him this evening. Maybe even this afternoon if he could con him into having a late lunch at the clinic's cafeteria. Jim swore up and down hospital food was amazing, probably because anything tasted fantastic when weighed against his confirmed bachelor cooking.

When he glanced back in the mirror, John had already vanished into the bathroom and partially closed the door behind him. Leonard struggled with an overwhelming urge to shuck the damn pants and follow after, tell John that he had changed his mind and they should be conserving water. Without anyone else for company, Leonard had nothing but his own mind to retreat to, and that was no longer a haven.

 

 

 

 

 

John swore viciously as he stepped into the shower, glaring balefully at the bare skin on his wrist. Leonard's distress was effecting him keenly, especially now that he no longer had him in sight. After all that Len had so willingly given last night, John wasn't about to push the issue of sharing a bathing ritual even if his mind was revolting at the thought of leaving Leonard alone while he still radiated such terrifying vulnerability.

It was remarkable how few inhibitions Leonard had when it came to his emotions; every thought was on display, every reaction honestly given. That could so easily be turned against him, but either Leonard didn't realize it or he simply didn't care. John enjoyed his openness, perhaps because he himself had never been so unguarded.

He frowned with dismay when he noticed a discoloration spreading across his wrist; his blind wouldn't be lasting much longer. His plans for the afternoon would have to change, but perhaps it was just as well to give Leonard his solitude.

Not willing to take any chances, John slipped into his clothes and checked to be sure the cuff of his sleeve would hide his mistake. Considering this was the material Section 31 had to work with, it was no wonder their casualties were consistently high. For his own sake, he intended to apply himself to the problem of finding a more lasting solution; it was impossible to say how long it would take before Marcus and his superiors were satisfied with the weapon's testing parameters. He had no intention of sacrificing any time with his Designated while he waited.

It was certain that Marcus would now know of John Harrison's whereabouts, equally certain that he would divine the cause for it. There was no reason to attempt denying it; the old man would see only another weakness to be exploited. Perhaps he would even convince himself that Khan's loyalty to his Designated would translate into a pseudo-loyalty toward the Federation. Either way, he would not forbid contact with Leonard, leaving John free to pursue a courtship.

The room still smelled of them, sex mingling with the patchouli scent of the night before. It would not have been pleasant save for the memories it evoked; phantom touches still lingered on his skin, and Leonard's hoarse profanities still echoed softly in his ears. John eyed the bed with longing- there was still so much to learn of each other. The darkness had provided its own false intimacy, but he would have given the world to plainly see agonizing pleasure writ across Leonard's face.

Would he be so bold in the light of day, still demanding and offering every part of himself for the gift it was? Or would it recall his dignity, making him bite back every plea and fight his need?

Both were appealing. There was no way John would not take Leonard McCoy: proud or humble, demanding or offering, impossibly gentle or utterly ruthless- he wanted every part, but not all at once. Bit by bit, slowly over many years so that the mystery would nearly drive him mad with need, but his patience would mean that every piece would be offered willingly without fear of judgment.

It would require very careful planning on his part. Leonard was an honest man to a fault, John thought; when he learned John's true nature, he would inevitably feel betrayed. His pride would require nothing less than an absolute break between them. Loyalty would demand that he serve the Federation in any way he could, even offering up his own Designated for justice.

Could he do it? If he thought John were assured a fair trial then the answer was undoubtedly yes. But if he knew everything, from Marcus to the Botany Bay and the fate Khan Noonien Singh was assured upon his return? Leonard was not a killer, he would no more deliver a man to his execution than he would carry out the sentence himself.

The problem of how they would proceed once his vengeance was complete and his crew accounted for could wait for another day.

 

 

 

 

When John strode into the kitchen, disappointingly clothed and radiating an almost palpable air of distraction, Leonard was already halfway through a towering mug of hot coffee. His next sip burned his tongue and scalded all the way down his throat. One of these days he would master the art of finishing a cup without hurting himself, but this morning it was not to be. John glanced up at his pained cough, taking in his reddening face and the hand at his throat; Leonard tried not to gape in disbelief when John glided to a cabinet, casually pulling down a mug and filling it with cool water.

"How th'hell did you guess where I kept those?"

"It is the nearest cabinet to the sink. Logically you would keep your glasses there." There was a wealth of amusement in that soft voice, Leonard could _hear_ his lips curving into a smile as he spoke.

John pressed the glass into his hand, hovering until Leonard could work his throat enough to take a swallow, resisting the urge to gulp it too quickly. He _would_ be a gentleman, he'd been slacking off in that respect for a while. It was high time he started practicing his manners again. Only maybe not today. Tomorrow was as good a time to start as any other.

He stood, ostensibly carrying the glass to the sink, but really waiting until John returned for his own breakfast before leaning over to run a questioning finger along the curve of his ear. John's breath caught, and Leonard couldn't quite keep a pleased smirk from his lips, even as he teased.

"You don't happen to know a Vulcan by the name of Spock, do you? Couple inches shorter 'n you, a little paler, looks like he has a brass poker for a spine?"

"I'm sure I do not." John still hadn't moved, frozen by a featherlight touch.

"Good. The last thing I need is _two_ of you logical types." Leonard pulled away, puzzled at John's disappointed glance. He gestured to the small plate pushed back on the counter, nothing more than a couple slices of bread, charred to a crisp just the way he liked. He hadn't even thought to ask John if he might have preferred it another way, just gone ahead and foisted this off on the man. He'd surely backslidden since joining Starfleet; some host he was proving to be.

"I was going to make pancakes." Leonard nodded to the meager offering, "But pancakes without syrup are about the saddest thing I've ever tasted. If you don't like your toast burnt-"

John snatched the plate before Leonard could lay a hand on it, evidently pleased with what he saw, or at least kind enough not to say otherwise. They settled at the table, the very picture of peaceful domesticity had anyone cared to paint it. The silence that fell between them wasn't strained or unnatural, but it gave Leonard entirely too much leeway to think of other, pressing concerns.

To his dismay, slipping John his ComSig had become top priority. Last night had been one for the proverbial books, and if there was even a slim chance John felt the same way, he was going to press his advantage. it might not be healthy, and he knew there were any number of folk who would say it was downright _immoral_ , but given the choice between hunting down a Designated that hadn't tried to contact him in all the months since that mark first resolved or going after a man that had already made it plain he didn't give a good damn what that scrawl said, Leonard knew which he was going to choose.

"You were restless last night. Pleasant dreams?" When Leonard was a boy, he'd once seen a cat look at a songbird in just that way, all bright-eyed curiosity and sly intent. David McCoy had scolded him something terrible for running out and scaring the poor thing away before the cat could make a move. Leonard felt a new sympathy for the bird; how the devil was he supposed to know what answer the man was expecting?

"I wouldn't know. I never remember 'em." It was mesmerizing, watching John's hands move so deftly while he spread honey atop the toast, its quantity carefully measured in exactly the way that Spock favored.

Leonard preferred the 'dump everything on top and spread it liberally' school of thought, himself, but the Vulcan must have rubbed off on him because there was a peculiar sense of satisfaction in watching John use that blade so precisely.

"And you? Pleasant dreams?"

"Very." The word dripped with a wealth of suggestiveness, enough that Leonard downed another sip of coffee too fast, covering his reaction by biting off far more than he could comfortably chew. Normally breakfast was a quiet affair, dragged out just long enough so that he could digest the day's news along with his food, but he was enjoying this light banter far more than he had a right.

"Are you just gonna keep me in suspense?"

"Until next time, I think."

Leonard raised a brow, not yet secure enough to make a quip about the presumptuous statement, but trusting his message would come through loud and clear. John only continued to sip at his drink, eyes never once leaving Leonard's face.

"Do you need to be out of here any time soon? My shift starts at three, but I can help you back to the transport station if you need."

"I remember the way." John visibly hesitated, leaning back in his chair and assuming an attitude of disinterest Leonard saw through in a second. "If your shift begins at three, I assume you will be leaving late."

"Late enough. Was there a question in there somewhere?" If he was feeling mischievous, very little of it bled into his tone.

"Do you have an escort home?"

Leonard laughed aloud, "It takes a special kind of moron to mess with Starfleet personnel, but normally I wouldn't object, if you're offering."

"Normally?"

"I skipped out early yesterday. If anything could make me regret it, it'll be the shift I'm working to make up for it." He didn't bother covering his wince. Christine would probably have a stack of paperwork on his desk a mile high and then some.

"I hope the gain outweighed the cost?"

Leonard snorted, "No contest. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

John rose, "Are you sure? I'd be pleased to-"

The chime of his comm nipped a promising development in the bud. Leonard swore softly, determinedly ignoring its repeated chirps. "I thought I was. But I could do with a reminder."

He'd just covered the distance between them when another comm began to chirp. Presumably John's since it sounded suspiciously like it might be coming from the bedroom. John gritted his teeth, nostrils flaring with annoyance.

"Guess you'd better check that."

"Wait for me." John growled, pressing a hard kiss to his lips that managed to convey lust, frustration, and fondness all at once. The man had a gift for expressing himself succinctly; Leonard was beginning to think wordless communication was shamefully underrated.

Though his own comm was chiming shrilly, Leonard stole a few seconds more to watch John stride purposefully down the hall. Without the protection of his coat, Leonard could see those pants did positively _sinful_ things to his ass, and while he had never really considered it before, shoulder blades were damn sexy when they were only just hinted at beneath a loose shirt. God _damn_.

Another chime had him swearing for an entirely different reason. It was a reasonable hour of the morning, but he wasn't on shift, no crises had been reported on the nets, and his acquaintances knew better than to think he would answer his comm if he had anything better to do.

 _Captain K_ flashed tellingly on the screen. Funny, last time Jim had called he'd still been listed as Kirk, James T. on the ident. List; just another example of nothing being safe, sacred, or sane in the Kirk manual. Annoyed at the interruption, Len didn't bother with social niceties.

"What the hell is the meaning of this, Jim?"

His best friend and _bete noir_ grinned back unapologetically from the screen, looking chipper despite the amount of alcohol he must have imbibed the night before. "Hey, Bones. You ditched me last night, so I thought I'd call and see how everything went."

Despite the grin and cheery tone, there was genuine concern lurking beneath the innocuous statement. He could see Jim scanning the room behind him, eyes doing a lazy once-over of his body that held none of the lust he pretended to. For all Jim accused _him_ of being a chronic worrier, Leonard knew where the true problem lay.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm alive and well and eating breakfast."

Jim's entire face lit up, "If you're out of bed already I'm guessing your handsome stranger didn't quite live up to the standard. Y'know, Bones, I could hook you up with-"

" _Again_ it's none of your damn business, but his name is John, he's still here, and I'm not inclined to talk about it. Especially over an open comm." Len grouched, painting a forbidding scowl on his face that even the bravest of men hesitated to challenge.

"That good? You can't just leave me hanging." 'Boldly going where angels fear to tread' might not be the official motto of Starfleet, but if Jim had his way, that would change.

A pithy comeback hovered on the tip of his tongue. The uncertainty he had pushed to the back of his mind surfaced once more, making him down the instinctive taunt, "Will you meet me for lunch today? Just at the clinic, for a half-hour or so."

Jim stiffened, instantly on the alert again. Had it been anyone else Leonard would have smiled and made a deprecating remark to put him at ease, but there was no use dissembling with Jim; after three years as roommates and partners in crime, there was very little either one could slide past the other.

"You want me to drop by now? Ditch your baggage and gimme twenty minutes."

"I said lunch, Jim. I haven't finished breakfast." Jim nodded agreement, but Leonard couldn't miss the shift of his jaw that indicated he was still considering an emergency intervention.

"If you invade the sanctity of my home after I just said _no_ , I will kick your ass out to the street for the waste disposal units."

Jim relaxed immediately, sensing Bones' outrage wasn't remotely feigned. "Late lunch. Clinic. I'll check in and you get to me when you can."

"All right, I need to go." Leonard signed off abruptly when he heard John's measured stride coming down the hall.

"Holy hell, are you all right?" John's eyes glittered with something very near rage, cheeks flushed with high emotion; his clipped movements and stiff expression confirmed he'd heard nothing good.

"Bureaucracy. My superiors are yanking my chain for amusement's sake." He shrugged into his coat with a violent twist, features softening only slightly when he noted Leonard's worried glance. "I'm afraid I won't be able to join you tonight." Honest regret mingled with a gentle gaze, John's voice lacked the edge of a second ago.

"Maybe some other time." Leonard didn't feel like examining his misplaced sense of disappointment. No promises. That was the whole point of casual encounters. Only now did he properly remember why he'd never liked indulging in them before: he had a nasty habit of getting attached.

He followed John to the entrance, determined to snatch a final kiss of farewell at the least, only to find himself plastered against the same back he had been admiring not ten minutes past. Leonard didn't have time for more than a startled exhale before John spun unexpectedly, shoving him bodily into the door. Their eyes caught, dark hazel on slate gray, Leonard hardly noticed John's arms bracketing him on either side, holding him captive, cradling him close. A hand slid up the curve of his neck, pushing his head back to bare his throat. Warm breath panted against his lips, John tilting his head in a way that was as much question as demand. Leonard lifted his chin, tongue darting out unconsciously to slick his lips.

"I-"

The next moment John's hand tangled in his mussed hair, yanking him into solid, reassuring weight. Ruthless lips devoured his own, trailed down to kiss a line up the faint bruises on his throat- memories of the night past. Shocked, Leonard didn't resist when he felt a thumb pulling at the curve of his mouth, demanding he open, quelling instinctive resistance.

John's mouth was hot and wet, exciting nerve endings already alive with sensation. He gave no quarter, his tongue forced its way past slack lips when Leonard tried to gasp a breath, teeth clashing as tongues tangled, thrusting obscenely in blatant mimicry of sex. Chapped lips abraded his own, sharp teeth bit at tender skin; everyone he met today would know what he had done. And Leonard didn't give a damn.

His world was reduced to the rush of blood in his ears, honey on his tongue, and steady fingers that curled into the slant of his jaw to hold him motionless. Leonard took as much as he gave, pliant but never passive, determined to leave his own mark and to hell with it.

He was dimly aware of his hands fisting in John's shirt, using him for support as much as the door; he couldn't say where one body ended and the other began. His feet slid on the too-smooth floor, John pinning his hips with a powerful thigh, grounding him while he sought his balance. Leonard knew he wasn't small by any stretch of the imagination, but this casual manhandling had him feeling like a bird caught in a typhoon, dizzy and off kilter-overwhelmed and unutterably calm all at once.

The kiss gentled, John's tongue tracing the seam of his lips in mute apology, soothing the bruised skin. It was a second longer before his hands dropped from Leonard's face, still panting against his lips, forehead to forehead, clever fingers tracing comforting patterns on the bare skin of Leonard's bared throat, trailing down to his chest and stomach distractingly.

Leonard jumped when one graceful hand slid around him, dipping into his rear pocket and pressing something there, lingering just a moment longer to explore the curve of his ass until Leonard rocked his hips teasingly, savoring a last shred of sensation.

He wanted to say something witty, maybe just a quick reminder that it wasn't fair to start something you couldn't finish, but he was too busy catching up with the last minute to remember what he had in mind.

Suddenly a gulf of air separated them, John's eyes glowing with satisfaction, breath still coming flatteringly short. "I hope you will remember to comm me."

Leonard nodded speechlessly, jealous of a man that could regain his composure so quickly. For himself, he could still feel the intimacy of skin against skin. This had to be what all the scriptures warned about when they spoke of sins of the flesh- his body still burned with fever, and he had the feeling a dozen cold showers wouldn't wash that heat from his skin.

He watched in stunned silence while John straightened his coat and ran a taming hand through his hair. "Good luck with… whatever it is." Leonard managed, stepping aside to open the door. John's smile was genuine, if strained. He stepped out, taking the walk with ground-eating strides. He didn't so much as glance back, and Len had to admit he was grateful.

Tempted as he was to retreat into his home, somehow Leonard found the will to watch until John was safely out of the drive and making his way in the right direction before he slammed the door, resting his head against it while he processed the last few minutes.

 _Damn_. That had been _filthy_. Len finally allowed himself to draw a steadying breath, leaning back against the reassuringly sturdy door. His heart was still thundering wildly. No surprise, it had been years since he'd had a proper kiss and he was damn sure he'd never been kissed like _that_. Was there a word for something between scandalized and needy? His heartbeat gradually calmed, and Leonard could feel the hectic blush of arousal fading; even after all they had done last night, it was a kiss that felt too intimate.

Leonard pushed himself from the door, making his slow way back to the table and clearing his dishes. He washed and dried mechanically, a smile still tugging at his lips every few minutes despite his best efforts to remain unmoved. It wasn't until he was slipping into his uniform that he finally remembered John had left something in his pocket. With fingers that were at once hesitant and eager, Leonard tugged the thin paper free, blinking at the sight.

Two ComSigs. One clearly for a personal residence… the other looked suspiciously like one of Starfleet's dedicated Sigs, but Leonard didn't recognize the code for any division he'd yet heard of. Weapons research, right. That was one branch of he'd never had much cause to deal with, small as it was; still, he was damned sure the Powers That Be wouldn't appreciate him using the number lightly.

He tucked the paper carefully next to the mirror, grinning openly now.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Even three hours and counting into his shift, Leonard hadn't managed to wipe the grin from his face. He'd even caught himself whistling now and again, some uplifting tune he thought he might have made up on the spot. The first time he had caught himself at it, he'd turned to find Christine gaping in open-mouthed disbelief.

Her eyes had caught on the tan bandage wrapped carefully about his wrist. The only use he'd had for his first-aid kit this year: improvising a protective sleeve for his Designation because Starfleet medical _still_ wouldn't allow long sleeves groundside. She glanced from his face to the bandage, swallowing softly; he knew from experience it took a hell of a lot to rattle Chapel's calm, that he had succeeded would normally be a source of great pride. Now it purely annoyed him.

"The hell are you looking at?" Leonard snapped; it didn't sound too intimidating, even to his ears. Christine shook her head, shutting her mouth with a click and excusing herself before he could say anything more. Janice would hear about it by nightfall, and then it would go on to Pavel, who would probably share it with Sulu… who would keep it to himself because he valued his privacy as much as Leonard did. Maybe if he had time after his shift he'd stop by and pick up something exotic from the florist; Sulu was a master of the language of flowers, and Leonard was determined his own lessons wouldn't be neglected.

Christine was far from the only one to flash him a look, but Leonard stoutly ignored everyone else as he made his way to the cafeteria; dread churned in his gut, making his footsteps drag.

What was he supposed to tell Jim? Should he even tell him anything? He was a grown man, dammit, and far past the age where he needed approval to do as he pleased. He had made his decision this morning and had every intention of sticking with it.

There lay the problem. Leonard didn't feel half so guilty about that as he knew he should. Anxious, certainly. Definitely upset, but not ashamed.

He had never felt ashamed when courting Jocelyn either, not so much as a pang of conscience involved. But there had been no sign his Designation would ever resolve; he'd been free to do what he thought best. Jocelyn hadn't seemed so conflicted-

"I can already see you're carrying the world on your shoulders. You should get something sweet to go with lunch." Jim's voice nearly sent him vaulting over the nearest table, whispered as it was in his left ear. As it was, Leonard froze, trying not to bark in front of the cafeteria crowd and feed an already glowing flame.

"Were you _following_ me?" Leonard hissed, shooting Jim a venomous glare that was normally as good as any public dressing down for shaming the kid into behaving. This time Jim wasn't cooperating.

"Not intentionally, I swear. I got in like, ten minutes ago? Yeah, ten, and when I came back from the bath-"

"I get it." Leonard cut him off briskly, snagging Jim's arm and dragging him unceremoniously to a table in the back.

Jim pulled away from him when they reached the table, straightening his shirt with a wounded air. "You _do_ know you're the only man that's allowed to haul me bodily across a room, right? Don't go giving anyone else ideas."

Leonard winced, "Sorry, Jim, sorry. I just- I don't even know where to begin."

"Food is always a good place to start." Jim clapped a hand on his shoulder, heavy and reassuring. "I'll grab something we can split, you figure out what you need to say."

Bless Jim for his night gluttonous love of food and conversation. Bless him for knowing when tact was best, even if he usually pretended he didn't know the meaning of the word. By the time Jim returned, Leonard could honestly say he felt himself again. He felt even better when Jim set a small plate of lemon meringue in front of him, stealing the cherry cobbler for himself.

"You 'n your sweet-tooth." Bones grumped, more out of form than anything else. Jim gave his classic response, spooning up as big a portion as he could and ostentatiously swallowing it before licking his spoon clean with exquisite care.

"I'm almost as bad as you." He smiled around another bite, but it didn't take a linguist to hear the barely veiled impatience in his tone. Jim was on his best behavior, but it cost him dearly to wait for answers. Out of deference, Leonard set aside his fork, stealing a sip of Jim's dark tea and waiting for the inevitable barrage of questions.

"So, did you have a good night? No, wait, I asked that already. How did breakfast go? Are you still in one-night stand territory or…?" Jim tilted his head and gazed meaningfully at Leonard's ring finger.

"I think I can safely say I'm not engaged." Leonard offered dryly, snorting at Jim's reproachful glare. "I told you, everything was fine."

" _Fine_ or _good_? Because as Spock would say, 'fine' is insufficient by any stretch of the imagination."

"I was under the impression Vulcans didn't have an imagination? And damn it, Jim, I'm tryin' to eat supper, don't even get me started on Spock and his questionable advice."

"Just asking. So if you're good, can I ask why you needed to see me? I mean, not that I'm not flattered and totally willing to listen to you dish about-"

Leonard jerked back his sleeve, baring the makeshift band that hid his Designation from view. Jim sputtered to a stop, eyes widening in horrified delight. "Oh my God, Bones." It came out on a breath, reverence, envy and reluctant amusement blending seamlessly in his hushed voice. "The guy from the club was your _Designated_?"

"No."

"But then that means-" Jim's eyes widened, "So you didn't…?"

"I did." Leonard snapped defensively. If Jim even _tried_ to shame him for this, he was going to hang him out to dry. The next moment left him ashamed that he'd ever thought so little of his oldest friend.

"You're trying to figure out what you're going to do about it." Jim nodded sagely, "Can't say I think you've come to the right place. I mean, what the hell do I know?"

"You're my captain. You need to know this in case it ever becomes relevant." It was true, but not the whole truth. Jim would hear the plea for help without him having to voice it aloud.

"What, you think he's going to follow you out to the stars or something?" A ghost of a smile flickered across his face, there and gone so fast Leonard wasn't sure he had actually seen it.

"Or something. I don't know, Jim, I just needed to report this, and I'm _not_ going to a fucking psychiatrist. Privilege wouldn't even begin to cover me and I don't want Starfleet crawling through my business."

Jim sobered, bright blue eyes fixing him with a measuring gaze, "What do you need, Bones?"

"Your discretion, for one." Jim looked mildly offended, so Leonard rushed on, "And your advice, if you'll give it."

"About what? You've _met_ yours, even if you don't know who he was. I haven't even got that on my side." Jim glared balefully at his own wrist as if he could make it reveal its secret to the world through his own will.

"Was I wrong, Jim? I saw the mark last night; I barely hesitated in spite of it, and now I'm just so screwed up, and-"

"Breathe, Bones. You're all right."

How many times had he said those same words to Jim when things went south, sitting alone in their dorm with nothing but the darkness and him to hear Jim confessing his fears and insecurities? Countless.

"So you fucked a stranger. And it was 'fine.'" Jim offered a half-smile, miming air quotes. "Are you actually feeling guilty or are you just stressing because you _don't_?"

"I don't know." Introspection had never been his strong point. Leonard didn't like to prod at his inner demons often; he didn't think there was enough alcohol in the city to make them silent once woken.

"See, I think if you felt guilty, there would be no doubt in your mind. You might as well be the official moral compass of the Enterprise, Bones. I think you know your own conscience."

"Then you think I'm taking this too seriously." Leonard slouched, taking another bite of meringue and rolling it about on his tongue.

"I never said that. I just said you did nothing wrong."

"What if I decide I don't want to do a damn thing? What if I just want to go on seeing this other man and pretend my Designation didn't show up in the first place?"

Jim smiled wolfishly, leaning across the table. "I'd say that as your best friend, I am entitled to a name and one hell of a story."

Leonard swallowed, tongue leaden as he forced his lips to shape the name: "Khan. Khan Noonien Singh." He couldn't stop himself from scanning the area, paranoia making him tense though he knew no one was near enough to overhear the whispered words.

"Where's he from? Why's he here? How's his technique?" Jim's smile grew with every question, obviously trying to provoke a reaction.

Leonard frowned, "I meant my Designated, Jim. It's Khan Noonien Singh."

'That can't be a common name. But if you're not hunting him down, I'm sure as hell not going to tattle." Jim shrugged dismissively, "So what's the name attached to that ComSig you're still carrying in your pocket?"

Times like these, Leonard wondered how anyone could mistake Jim for the happy fool he pretended to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said this should be about twelve chapters? I might have been wrong. I think we're currently looking at fifteen, but I'm going to try to avoid chapters of this length again.


	7. Suitable Arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marcus proposes a deal, John accepts against his better judgment, and Leonard is set to reap the rewards. Or consequences.

John moved like a ghost through the decidedly unhallowed halls of the research division, London branch. Marcus' comm had been maddeningly unspecific, no more than a curt order to return to London without delay. It wasn't possible his plans had been approved yet, which left only the growing suspicion that his untimely trip to San Francisco had been remarked.

Why Marcus would object to his pursuing a better understanding of his Designated, John couldn't begin to guess. It could only be to his benefit to allow Leonard near; the more John knew of him, the more likely he was to sympathize, perhaps even adopt some of his loyalties. By all accounts, subverting his time with his Designated was a flawed tactic if ensuring his continued cooperation was the end goal.

The admiral had already made it plain that Leonard was as much a hostage for John's good behavior as his crew; certainly there would be no overt action, but the threat of more subtle arrangements had been plain.

Still fuming, John took the stairs three at a time. He couldn't bear to be confined to a turbolift just now, not even the spacious glass affair that passed for one here. The climb did nothing to rid him of the restlessness crawling beneath his skin; he was still breathing evenly by the time he reached the top floor, tugging at his collar until it no longer strangled his neck like a vise. It wouldn't do to look anything less than perfectly composed when confronting Marcus; it was disadvantage enough meeting him in his own territory.

Marcus' door was intended to evoke a bygone era, no utilitarian, mechanical affair for an admiral, but an opaque glass and steel construction John didn't doubt was reinforced. Marcus was arrogant enough to see himself as a remnant of the past- the brutal old-guard bearing responsibility for a new and more innocent generation. In fact, John had found that it was more often the trusting ones that survived any sustained conflict; they were quicker to accept help when it was offered, constructing networks and shelters in the ruins of their old lives, adapting, even thriving in adversity. Alexander Marcus would have found himself bereft and destitute, easy prey for any of the scavengers that also followed pitched battles.

He supposed he should be thankful that Marcus did not even glance up from his desk when he came to stand before it; there was far too much naked enjoyment in his gaze.

If there was a trait he and his alter-ego shared, it was their pride in minimizing the damage they had to inflict; any brute could sow destruction, but it took skill to act with precision. Even considering, John knew there was a part of him that would never heal until he had dealt with Marcus in a very _personal_ capacity. He would be a relentless foe otherwise, more stubborn than a dog with a bone in its teeth and thrice as vicious; there could be no question of allowing him to live, rabid curs were better put down.

"You were in San Francisco." The admiral laid his PADD aside, glancing up with a question in his eyes.

John didn't deign to answer, neither did he choose to sit in the chair Marcus indicated. Let that be taken as it would.

Marcus sighed, pushing himself to his feet and circling the desk, "This isn't a disciplinary meeting, Harrison, you can relax."

His patronizing tone had exactly the opposite effect. John had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from grinding with annoyance.

"Then what _is_ the purpose of this meeting, sir?" There was just enough of a hesitation to suggest that Marcus had done nothing deserving of respect; he knew the small insolence had been noticed by the flaring nostrils and widening eyes.

It might as well have been an illusion; in the next second the obvious rage had been replaced with a stiff smile John loathed. If he broke Marcus' jaw, would the man ever be able to smile so again? His whimsy brought an answering smirk to John's own face, wiped away by Marcus' next tangent:

"How is Dr. McCoy? My records indicate he lacks a Designaion, but we know that's not true. Withholding information considered vital to the success of a mission is an easy path to a discharge; I wonder if McCoy considered that? His psych eval says he's something of a risk-taker." He leaned back in his chair, confident that the upper hand was regained.

John lifted a brow, feeling the rest of his body tighten in readiness."Dr. McCoy's status is hardly pertinent to my work."

"I disagree."

Khan's eyes darted about the room; there were no blind spots in the surveillance equipment, that he had already taken pains to verify his first visit here. There was a pressure plate beneath the desk that would activate a silent alarm if pressed and released, Marcus kept a phaser he claimed was only for show on the table behind. He could take the desk in a second, block Marcus' path to the pressure plate with his calf, smash his trachea against the lip of the chair to prevent him crying out, and take the phaser from the table while Marcus choked on his own labored breaths.

It would mean the end of his current plan and formulating another would cost him both time and resources if it was feasible at all. Much as it pained him, John held his stance.

"I do not take your meaning."

"If you spend half your time planning another trip to San Fran or sneaking another checkup on McCoy, it will cut into your work. Then we will have a problem."

"How do you propose to resolve it?" A mild look, no unexpected gestures to telegraph his struggle.

"I'm pushing your weaponry designs through as quickly as I'm able, but I have another task for you." Marcus leaned back, tapping out a tattoo on his PADD that John couldn't see; an image flickered just above the desk of a-

"Dreadnaught class cruiser." John was intimately familiar with the design; he had submitted the proposal himself before he had ever begun work on his life-saving vessels . What use was it to rescue his crew if they remained earthbound and at the mercy of such men as these?

"I want you to design a warp core with a little more reach than your standard constitution class. The design is already in place, it just needs tweaking. I realize this isn't your area of expertise, you will have a team. I expect you to contribute based on your own experience" A sly quirk of the lips had John bristling with alarm, waiting for the proverbial sword of Damocles to fall, "In exchange for your expedient and _total_ cooperation, I am prepared to offer you a concession."

John allowed his silence to speak for him, even when Marcus' expression curdled with disappointment.

"We have branches all over the world, John: St. Petersburg, Jodhpur, London… San Francisco. If you're determined to evade your duties here at every opportunity, it would take no more than a ranking officer's signature to approve a request for transfer. If I had your word that you would apply yourself to this problem, that signature could very easily be mine."

John's mask faltered for a split second, excitement, satisfaction, and trepidation all mingling until he was left with a dizzy rush of emotion. He knew his face reflected indecision, the want and concern that had flared up the moment he had sensed the direction of Marcus' thoughts.

"I understand you'll need time to consider, and I'm sure you know there is no question of you leaving until I have an answer-"

"Yes. Make your arrangements." It was all he could do to keep from openly smirking at Marcus' thinly veiled triumph; neither one of them had offered their best performance this afternoon, but John was content that he had marginally been the victor, if only because he could well be spending the next few nights in Leonard's company.

Marcus made his way back to his desk, smiling broadly, "New quarters will be provided for you-" It went without saying that the residence would be monitored, much like his rooms here. "I expect those transfer orders will come through quickly. Stay close." He waited a beat, as much to luxuriate in his own power as to savor his captive's impatience.

"You're dismissed."

John was out the door before he had breathed the final syllable.

 

 

 

If in no other respect, Marcus had kept his word regarding the timing of his transfer. A mere twenty-two hours and the request had passed through the bureaucratic leviathan that was Starfleet's upper echelons. He was cleared for transport no sooner than the following morning, but it came with the assurance that his housing would be prepared and arrangements made for his new position.

Were he anyone else, John supposed his mood would have passed for _giddy._ As it was, he had been packed less than three hours after departing Marcus' office, his personal affects, such as they were, already stored for transport. He didn't linger in the box that was his room any longer, taking instead to the streets in the hope of pacing away his energy. Several times he found himself reaching for his comm, remembering just in time that he didn't yet have Leonard's ComSig. It bothered him far more than it had a right.

The walk did nothing to temper his excitement, but he didn't have long to wait; his notification of transfer arrived in the evening, and nightfall found him in San Francisco, surveying an apartment that was far more to his taste than the one he had left behind. Evidently Marcus had spared no expense in making sure John would be comfortable here. Why he should bother with the pretense of favoritism, John didn't know, unless it was an attempt to appeal to a non-existent mercenary side of his nature.

Either way, the benefit was palpable; these new rooms were all sleek and minimalist, but hardly lacking in comfort. The eggshell couch would have taken up nearly the entire wall had it been pressed against it, as it was it was positioned to look out through the floor-to-ceiling window on the East side of the room. The wooden slatterns to his left concealed a kitchen, complete with an island John could have done without. The entire apartment seemed to be desperately courting the idea of luxury, and instead impressed him with a sense of waste and inefficiency. The window though, Leonard struck him as the sort who would appreciate the sunrise if he were forced to rise in time for it anyway.

John realized then that he had been assessing the apartment purely in terms of Leonard's preferences: open spaces, natural materials, comfort prioritized over efficiency. It was no more than instinct, he knew, a subconscious need to prove himself an adequate provider, the compulsion would only become stronger for every day they spent apart. At least he would know what it was that sparked the need, Leonard would be left disconcerted and confused by the sudden shift in his thoughts, making space for an other he hadn't yet accepted.

He made his way to the bedroom, pleased to find there would be more than enough space to accommodate two; let it never be said that Marcus did not pamper his prisoners. How many others had he drafted to his cause, John wondered, how many had stood where he did now, resisting but not near enough to free themselves from Marcus' trap? He could not have been the only, but John suspected he _was_ the only one that had a chance of outmaneuvering his captors.

No. Today would be a day for accustoming himself to his new home, settling in, scouting out those he thought might be reporting to Marcus, ascertaining whether he had to worry about monitoring within his sanctum or only without. Once those had all been adequately dealt with, perhaps there would yet be time to seek out his Designated and steal a few hours of his time.

Instinct aside, John had not expected crave his Designated so desperately after only a few hours in his company. He had miscalculated, but could not bring himself to be disappointed; he wanted Leonard to need as badly as he was needed, and the odds were already stacked against him with Leonard supposing him nothing more than a stranger from a bar. Their Designations would pull them together, Leonard's own nature would work against him, that need to return affection wherever it was found, the impulse to mend every damaged thing he found.

If ever anyone had needed Leonard McCoy, it was Khan, and by extension John Harrison.

His mind turned back to thoughts of the night they had spent together; Leonard's warmth against him and the pants muffled in silence, soft words and the shocked widening of Leonard's eyes when he had first perceived his manifested Designation. The scandalized delight and aching gratefulness reflected on his face when John had traced the letters with his tongue; he had feared rejection for a trait he could not control, and the insecurity implicit in that thought had John bristling with protectiveness. When he was through, Leonard would _know_ that anyone should count themselves blessed to have him, regardless of what condition he came in, and he would _know_ that only John ever would.

For so long Leonard had buried himself in his work that he had nearly forgotten there was more to him than the uniform he wore during the day. John would revel in stripping it from him every night, showing him there was still very much a man beneath the doctor.

It sent a shudder through him, the image of Leonard's sun-darkened skin against the ivory coverlet; dark hair mussed and lips quirked up into that self-satisfied smirk John had grown so fond of the night before. He would leave his earthy scent in the linens, a reminder that he belonged even when he wasn't present. John intended to be sure he was present as often as possible, in as may ways as possible.

Pinned and overwhelmed, unable to hide his reactions from his Designated's watchful eyes; he wouldn't have a hope of hiding the hitch in his breath when John traced the tendons of his throat again, leaving new marks that would fade by morning. He wouldn't bother closing his eyes and trying to hide the depth of his need- Leonard was always an honest man, and John would see every thought that raced through his mind while he was pulled apart and put back together again.

Leonard would writhe, catching at him, pleading for more when John drew away to taunt him. He remembered the frustrated growls of the night before, the demanding grip on his shoulders and waist; Leonard wouldn't shrink from similar treatment, he would _demand_ it. He would give and give until he had nothing left in him but heaving breaths and twitching skin, and then John would take just that little bit more, until his pleas became whimpers and gasps.

He was a born sensualist, and John was determined to indulge him at every opportunity.

How would Leonard be reacting now? He'd had more than a day to adjust, and John did not like to think he was the only one indulging in memory, thinking longingly of when they might arrange to meet again. This next time John wanted more than sex; there was only so much a database could tell him of his Designated, the rest he would have to hear from his own lips. The trick would be convincing Leonard to share more than cursory details- John knew him to be a private man, not one that appreciated others digging into his affairs.

Strategy would be key. If he moved too quickly, Leonard would startle and withdraw, but moving too slow would tax his patience to the breaking point and John needed this sanctuary while he was caught up in Marcus' schemes. None of the information on Designations, not the treatises or more recent studies, had prepared him for the immediacy of the bond, how much intimacy he craved in so short a time. It was unnerving, and he had been preparing for it; Leonard would be blind-sided with all these new variables. John hoped that would prompt him to open up sooner, even under false pretenses.

Caution was called for, and patience. He would suggest, and insinuate, negotiate until Leonard began to grow comfortable. When Leonard began to pry into _his_ affairs, and it would be soon, then John would press his advantage. It all came down to a waiting game, and he had certainly been playing Marcus long enough to know the way of it now.

 

* * *

 

 

"How soon d'you suppose is too soon to comm?" Leonard set his PADD aside, long since past the point he could even pretend to be busy.

Jim snorted, glancing away from the vid screen to offer a lop-sided smile, "How should I know? You're the only one that's met the man. Well, a little more than that." He winked lewdly, giving the words their meaning.

Leonard hurled a pillow meant to buffet him upside the head, but Jim caught it midair and tucked it under his neck instead; he settled again, making a show of stretching out.

"With all your experience, I'd expect you to have an educated _guess_ at least."

"Bones, are you saying I'm _easy_?" Jim twisted around, widening his eyes and sticking his lips out in a becoming pout.

"Hell, no, you're just about the hardest man I've ever met." _Shit._ Too late, Jim was off, cackling with mirth.

Leonard grinned back, shaking his head, "Dammit, Jim. You know what I meant."

"I don't know, Bones, just wing it. A little spontaneity is good for the soul."

"It's that kind of thinking that always ends with you laid up in sickbay for the night."

Jim refused his bait this time, glancing instead toward his comm. "I mean, it's been two days, right? You're clear to comm without looking desperate; besides, desperate can be fucking sexy. Not kidding."

There was undoubtedly a story to go with that, but he wasn't about to give leave to tell it. Despite Jim's assurance, despite his own curiosity and that heavy feeling that had settled in his gut and stubbornly refused to leave, Leonard was too flighty to take the final step. Was he supposed to comm? John didn't have his signature, and sure that kiss had been a pretty good indication that he was up to continuing whatever it was they had started, but part of the problem was that Leonard knew they hadn't strictly meant to start anything, it had just happened.

His real question was, did he want to take this any farther? The answer he kept hearing both in his own thoughts and from Jim's mouth was a resounding 'Why the hell not?'. That just wasn't good enough. Yes or nothing. And so for the second day in a row Leonard had done nothing, rationalizing his inaction with the increasingly feeble excuse that John was probably busy, it just wasn't fair to disturb a man when he had only just made his way back home, _he_ was busy. The longer he waited, the frailer and more repetitive his justifications became.

If only he didn't have that niggling sense of something left incomplete nagging at the back of his mind-

"Oh, damn, my fingers slipped. Guess you're on the line."

Leonard's head snapped up, his eyes darting in a hopeful panic toward his comm and then toward Jim. "Don't, Jim."

"I didn't. Just wanted to see how you reacted. If you still want my two cents, I say go ahead and comm; you looked pretty excited for half a second- you know, beneath the raging fury; anyone ever told you you're a scary bastard or am I your first?" He grinned lazily, not bothering to dodge the mock kick Leonard aimed at him, missing him by no more than a couple centimeters.

"Seriously. You're going to over think this if you don't, and frankly, getting laid has worked _wonders_ for your temper. I am all in favor of any plan that involves you being less obstreperous."

"Was that your word of the day?" Leonard pushed himself to his feet almost before he knew what he was doing, making his way over to the comm.

"I was going to say 'cranky' but you'd probably just throw something at me again. So I thought 'stubborn', but that's not really the word and then there's-"

"I don't need a breakdown, Jim."

"Shutting up, Bones."

He momentarily considered asking for a moment alone, but in all fairness he was drawing comfort from the easy company. Leonard had never liked the impersonal nature of comms; the delay always meant he was never sure what his partner was responding to, and there was something about the screen that made it feel surreal somehow. Years of use hadn't made it any easier, and now he was going to comm a man that was both lover and stranger. Curioser and curioser.

The screen flickered to life, his ping answered almost as soon as it had sounded. By the time John's face flickered into view his embarrassment had evaporated, replaced by a relief he could only assume stemmed from finding that he was not being ignored. What else would he have to be so damn grateful for?

"Mornin'" His very best intentions couldn't keep the sultry smile from his lips; it was nowhere near morning, but he was banking on John remembering their few hours as fondly as he.

"Leonard." It came out as something of a breathy growl, and Leonard's muscles leapt with unfeigned excitement, sending a visible ripple through his frame. He knew John had seen it from the way his face brightened with amusement.

An odd shuffling distracted him for a second. Leonard turned back slightly to find Jim creeping along the floor in true Kirk-style: on his belly like a lizard, convinced he was a master of stealth when in fact he hadn't managed to move more than a pace without it being noticed. He caught Leonard's eye and grinned sheepishly, giving a cavalier shrug that would have annoyed his friend in any other circumstances.

"Are you all right?" He turned back to find John scanning the area around him, wariness etched in every tired line of his face. Holy hell, he looked like death warmed over.

"I could ask the same of you. From where I'm standin' you don't look well." He didn't bother trying to hide his concern; if John didn't want him prying then he could say so and they would both know where they stood.

"I think perhaps I should see a doctor. Do you make house calls?"

"Oh God, your lines're about as bad as Jim's."

"What the fuck, Bones? See if I ever do you a solid again." Jim whispered, glaring with righteous indignation. He halted his slow progress across the floor, perching his head on cupped hands instead and kicking his heels playfully like the child he was.

Leonard hushed him brusquely, drawing another curious stare from John, questioning. He ignored it, not wanting to confess that he had an adult-sized toddler currently loitering at his heels, eavesdropping on what should have been a private conversation.

"Besides, I'm not about to hop across an ocean for your convenience. I happen to know you lot have a branch of medical all to yourselves."

"An ocean? Hardly. I estimate a little under an hour, provided you take the next transport and meet me at your academy. It leaves in twenty minutes, I might add."

What the hell. His head was spinning, too much information all at once. "The academy? _Starfleet_ academy?" Leonard croaked.

John's smile returned with blinding force, not so much as a nod of confirmation.

"Here?"

Silence.

"An hour. All right, I can manage."

"Perhaps you should bring a change of clothes-"

"I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself."

Change of clothes, toothbrush, a razor in case he couldn't make it home before his shift. This had all been far simpler than he expected, but Leonard would have preferred to have their discussion face-to-face anyway, subtle emotional cues didn't translate well over a commlink, and he was acutely aware of Jim's sudden stillness.

"I think we are on exactly the same page."

"I need to go now if I'm going to catch the 'port." The comm terminated immediately, leaving him alone with Jim's reproachful look.

"I see how it is. You're just going to throw me over the minute it looks like you might get some." There was no offense in the words, only a tinge of amusement not unmixed with resignation.

"Promise of pleasant company. Not that your fair self isn't appreciated."

"You want me to walk you to the station?" Jim had to shout the last few words, Leonard was already making for his rooms and the nearest overnight bag.

 

 

What was he doing? Leonard paused in stuffing an over-sized shirt into his bag, raising his eyes to meet his reflected gaze in the mirror. Reckless wasn't usually his style; well, maybe it was given his track record since the divorce, but he preferred to think of himself as decisive.

The fact remained, he wasn't normally a man to discard his misgivings and dive in headfirst. Unless the invitation was issued in a silken voice by a man that was too damn handsome for Len's fragile state of mind, evidently. He had gone from uncertain to absolutely sure in a matter of seconds, and still couldn't figure out how his mind had made the leap. He sat on the edge of the bed, shirt dangling between his hands, forgotten.

Was it about the sex? No, that didn't fit. If he had cared for chase games and awkward dates, Leonard knew he could have them. It was just that he had _liked_ John Harrison right off the bat. Only 'liked' wasn't really the word, it implied a little more than a shared look and a few words. Revising, he had felt drawn to John Harrison, attracted in an animal magnetism kind of way. In a way he hadn't believed even existed until he felt that tug.

Flouting his 'no casual sex' rule might not have been a favor to either of them, because that innocuous attraction had become more of a pull. Iron meet lodestone.

His mind circled back most often to the morning after, not to the sex, though admittedly he had stored those memories away for his quiet nights, but more often than not to those first few moments of wakefulness. John had seemed so at peace, and it had evoked a similar feeling in him of finding a moment to rest at last. Leonard had always enjoyed the little intimacies, tangled feet during a cold snap, waking up to the tingle in his arm that warned him he was losing circulation, but not caring because his partner was so solid and real. He hadn't realized how much he had missed those niceties until suddenly it had been offered to him again- John's warmth at his back, a lazy hand trailing up his side, not sexually, but exploratory, mapping the planes and curves of his body.

Breakfast too had been illuminating, just having someone else to see him a few minutes after he clambered out of bed, messy and tired, still moving stiffly while his body warmed up. Just eating together in comfortable silence had been a treat that he hadn't indulged in since that last month with Jim in the academy, and even then he hadn't been entirely at ease, always on guard to make sure Jim didn't trip him into saying something he would regret.

Leonard was even more surprised to find he wanted that again; he wanted someone to speak with after a dragging day, someone he could listen to and sympathize with; he wanted to wake up next to his partner after a night spent together doing whatever they pleased and mumbling a husky 'good morning' only to hear it echoed back. It didn't have to be permanent, and with his duties aboard the _Enterprise_ and John's doing- whatever it was he got up to- it probably wouldn't be, but he planned to float an idea past John and see if maybe they weren't suitable for a few months in each other's company.

Simply, easy, no strings attached unless it was mutual fondness and professional ties. If anyone could understand his schedule, it would be another member of Starfleet, and being earthbound conveniently removed that pesky differing ranks conundrum.

Leonard started back up, jamming his shirt into his bag after a harried glance at the bedside clock. He'd caught himself up in daydream again, and damn near scuttled what he was going for here. Typical.

Jim laughed when he careened out of his rooms, hurriedly slipping into his shoes, "You coming with me or stayin' here, Jim?"

"Staying. I promise not to eat everything, but if you think I'm not comming Scotty so we can drink all your beer and gossip about you, you're wrong."

"What the hell, go for it."

Jim blinked disbelievingly, catching his sleeve when Leonard turned to bolt, "I like this. You need to hook up more often, I've been saying it since forever."

"Pretty sure it's just this one, Jim."

Blue eyes flicked tellingly to his covered wrist before Jim's smile returned again, "Then I suggest you get moving before you miss that transport."

 

 

It wasn't until he was safely ensconced in a seat near the back of the transport that Leonard peeled his sleeve back, gazing at the script he had nearly forgotten. These runes had governed his life for so long now, damn near ruined him a time or two, but somehow, until that incredulous glance, he had forgotten to feel guilty for choosing a man over a name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone up for a game of good news/bad news?
> 
> Bad news first: I'm a little overwhelmed with my thesis and various other projects at the moment, so updates will be coming a little slower- at least until mid-November.
> 
> Good news: I went on a writing spree this weekend, and let's just say _everything_ will be updated within the next week or so. This one included. :)
> 
> Thank you all for your patience, it is appreciated.


	8. Mala Fides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonard and John begin to negotiate the boundaries of what may or may not be a relationship.

Leonard hadn't been able to take his mind off that damn mark since Jim had reminded him of it. Several times he had tried pulling the cuff of his sleeve over it or rearranging his binding so that it wouldn't show, all to no avail. Inevitably he ended up removing the cloth, peeling back his sleeve to gaze down at it in resigned disbelief.

Precisely none of this would have mattered if he hadn't taken a stranger- _John_ \- home the other night. It wasn't even for himself that he was fretting really, just… that night had been _good_ , better than he had the words to express. Bloody-minded curiosity made his own mind turn against him, supplying questions he had never thought he would have cause or opportunity to ask: _How the hell did you stay hidden for so long? Why couldn't I even see your_ name _? Did you see mine, did you ever even wonder?_

Did any of that matter? Years ago he had decided to stop pursuing an ephemeral dream; he'd taken his own life into his hands and done a damn good job of it as far as he was concerned. Traitorously, Len allowed himself to trace the frenzied, orderly script along his wrist. It was something he had seen depicted again and again in every overdone novel he had devoured as a child, every cliched vid he had ever guiltily enjoyed with Jim. There was a sense of wonder in it, yes, considering it was something he had never expected he would be able to do.

But there was no pang of indecision or burning need to meet the man behind the name.

Leonard always trusted his intuition; Designations were proof positive there were things in the universe that couldn't yet be explained or rationalized, even if Mr. Spock stubbornly maintained otherwise. Instinct was telling him he'd be a fool not to explore this unexpected connection with John, and Leonard never did anything by half measures. If he visited Harrison today that meant swearing off Khan Noonien Singh permanently, and the very fact that it caused him no anxiety to think so worried him.

Some small part of him, the little boy that had never felt like he was good enough, was scared witless John would decide this had worked better as a one-off. Len knew they were moving fast, he had no right to ask for a commitment, and it was pretty damn old-fashioned asking a man for permission to court him exclusively, but Leonard just didn't know any other way.

Besides, between the two of them John had far more to lose. Certainly he could fret over all those rumors that liked to paint Nulls as incapable of serious commitment, always a 'flight-risk', but John would be reminded every day that Leonard McCoy had supposedly been forged with someone else in mind.

There was nothing for it but to hope that John placed about as much faith in fate as he; if he could even get this relationship off the ground it was going to take a hell of a lot of work to build up trust between them. Len was no stranger to hard work and damned if he was going to change his mind anytime soon. Jocelyn had the excuse of naivete, marrying as young as they had; she hadn't understood what she was giving up. Leonard knew, and he was prepared to make the choice if John was willing to try for something more than occasional stress relief.

All these things had to be said, all of it had to be understood between them. Leonard prayed he could find the words and make them come out right.

 

 

* * *

 

The solution stung viciously when applied, turning his skin an ominous shade of red, but John's Designation faded before his eyes provoking mixed feelings of relief and a creeping anxiety he hardly dared acknowledge. Logically he knew it was only temporary cell damage that would keep his mark hidden, no more than an unnatural paleness to give away its presence. That didn't silence the whisper that idly wondered what would become of him if the damage became permanent after continuous use.

A child's fear, one he ruthlessly nipped in the bud. The acidic nature of the compound would make it far more corrosive to a Natural's skin, but for himself he hoped the effect might last longer than Section Thirty-One's concoction. Enough to allow him a day of uninterrupted peace without fear of betraying himself in his sleep until he could devise something with more longevity.

He glanced to the atomic clock, counting down the minutes until the transport was due. He would have to be cautious today; Leonard felt safe in his own home, but this place was new to both of them and there was no telling how that might affect his mental state.

The first item of business would be putting him at ease. It was obvious Leonard was distressed by his Designation's manifesting; now that he had time to think on it, doubts would probably be surfacing, questions and insecurities he had buried for years. Far from taking his mind off it, John intended to encourage the questions; Leonard would not rest until he had considered the problem from every angle, it was better he should do so while John was present to act as a support.

Leonard was a willful man. After surrendering his wife to the tyranny of Designations, he would be reluctant to do the same to another partner, however brief. Curiosity would plague him, but John intended to make sure his tangible bond would weaken the guilt that might cause him to leave.

This would have to be a day for conversation; it was important that Leonard see they were as compatible out of bed as in it. A purely sexual relationship would leave both of them restless and unfulfilled, and if securing a greater connection meant sacrificing this opportunity, John comforted himself that he was playing a longer, deeper game; delayed gratification was far more satisfying in the end.

Of course, some thoughts were better articulated through action than speech; Leonard struck him as the sort of man who would agree wholeheartedly. In these early stages of the bond, John wasn't sure he alone could muster the discipline to deny himself whatever Leonard chose to offer; he would have to depend on some vestige of Khan to see him through the evening.

The door chimed and John unconsciously straightened his clothes, his mind's eye providing a graphic image of Leonard's teeth slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt that he hastily banished when he felt his tongue wet his lips.

He opened the door a trifle hastily, smiling openly when he saw the picture Leonard made.

His clothes had clearly been donned in haste; the top button of the shirt was charmingly undone, hair still a little mussed from wind- and most promising of all, the strap of an overnight bag was slung across his chest, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders in a way that had John's eyes lingering appreciatively on the overall effect.

Leonard flushed, adjusting the bag self-consciously, considering whether he should have brought it after all no doubt. Well, John intended to lay that fear to rest as soon as circumstances permitted.

"May I come in?" There was a huskiness in his voice the comm-link had not managed to capture; John did not realize he had missed it until he heard it again.

He stepped aside, debating the wisdom of confiscating Leonard's bag before he reconsidered bringing it along; when he saw the way Leonard clutched the strap, knuckles whitening with pressure, his mind was made up.

"Allow me." John gave him no chance to protest, deftly slipping into McCoy's space and pulling the bag over his shoulder almost before he was noticed. Wary of leaving his guest alone long enough to question the wisdom of their tryst, he slipped it quickly into his room, Leonard leaning against the door-frame with a slightly annoyed crease of his brow.

It was no trouble to catch him there and press a chaste kiss to his lips, waiting for a tell-tale release of tension before he dared to step away.

"Welcome." Warmth suffused his tone, mingled with a blatant satisfaction that had Leonard coloring again.

"Thanks." Leonard grinned crookedly, wrestling with the question of what more he could be expected to say. "I guess I should've brought a bottle of wine for a house-warming, but-"

"Your company is sufficient." _More than sufficient_.

Leonard laughed aloud, rising up to click his heels on the floor "It's a funny thing, finding the words to invite a man home for sex and then not having a damn clue what to say when you finally see 'im again."

John couldn't resist the obvious temptation; it took him all of a second to maneuver Leonard back against the wall, hands impatiently pulling his tucked shirt from his pants to glide over the skin of his stomach. A surprised gasp was his reward, Leonard's hands twining in the fabric of his own clothes to hold him close. This was not the way the afternoon was supposed to progress, but John found he had a taste for holding Leonard like this, pliant and relaxed, pinned against an unyielding wall and his own solid body. It gave him a sense of control that he dearly needed, silencing his disquieting thoughts.

He pulled away reluctantly, and Leonard followed, snatching a last bit of contact before he leaned back, far more relaxed than when he had arrived. John could not help but remember how well McCoy wore the well-fucked expression of a few nights ago.

"If it is simpler for you, I suppose we could indulge in casual sex first."

His Designated sobered instantly; he cleared his throat softly, shifting his clothes back into place. "I'd rather not."

He squared his shoulders, mustering his courage with little effort- John had already decided this directness was one of Leonard's most charming traits.

"Ever, I mean. I told you I'm not so great at the meaningless angle- Hell, I _knew_ I should've brought us a strong drink. I'll just spit it out. If we're going to go the friends with benefits route, I'd rather skip it and try for something committed first. Not that I'm suggesting we should dive in right away, just that I'd rather not-" He choked, and that blush was truly one of the most rewarding things John had ever seen, "Have sex until I know where we stand. I don't know what _this_ is." He gestured to the room around them, John, still caging him in, his overnight bag. "But I'd like your thoughts on it.."

Interesting. As his speech progressed and Leonard grew more flustered, his accent gradually began to disappear, overcome by the painfully correct Standard every child learned in lessons. It was exactly the opposite reaction from a few nights before.

As for John's thoughts on the matter, he didn't dare speak them all aloud for fear Leonard would collect his things and never return. That was not a possibility he was willing to court.

"I intend to keep you, Leonard McCoy." It was the first time he had spoken his Designated's full name, and John thought he could feel the mark twinge with sympathy. "For as long as you will permit," he added belatedly, seeing Leonard's brow wing up in a way that suggested he was preparing to take exception to that wording. It was only fair to warn a man about what he could expect, particularly when that man was the most honest person John thought he had ever encountered.

He didn't expect Leonard to take it seriously, and he didn't, but it came as a surprise when that worried expression, far from disappearing, became more marked. "I think we oughtta talk about that."

Informal speech. John chose to take it for a positive sign, but he didn't like that Leonard had begun tucking his shirt back in more meticulously and was slowly maneuvering past him back to open space.

"Maybe we could take this _out_ of the bedroom?" A smile, if subdued. John made sure his theatrical sigh gave every clue what he thought of the development, and he heard Leonard's amused snort as he turned away.

"The couch, I think. The view is spectacular." Two days ago he would never have noticed, but now he sought to see the world through Leonard's eyes, and it changed everything from mundane to remarkable.

Another side effect of the growing bond, most likely the same reaction that was prompting Leonard's uncustomary need for reassurance. For a man that had come to pride himself on his independence, this sudden craving for partnership would be not only unusual but unsettling. Perhaps had Leonard come to him sooner, before he had been set adrift in this new time, he might have been able to relate. Instead, he found himself annoyed at the thought of the distance Leonard would doubtless keep between them until his own misgivings and sense of propriety had been satisfied.

That was _his_ name branded into Leonard's skin, but he did not fool himself that this man was yet his.

A low whistle called him back to the present in time to see Leonard dip his hands into his pockets nonchalantly, rocking back on his heels as he took in the view. "Sunset must be something from up here."

"I would not know." He wanted to see it now, though, preferably with Leonard resting at his side, every bit as easy in John's home as he was his own.

"When did you get in?" Leonard turned back, saying without words that John was welcome to approach; it was an invitation he gratefully accepted.

"This morning. The sunrise is not nearly so spectacular from this window, unfortunately."

"I'll bet not." Leonard's smile held none of the tension of a moment ago but his eyes were still narrowed in thought, and he was visibly suppressing the impulse to wet his dry lips. "So that 'keeping' business, I'm guessing that's your way of saying I'm free to stick around?" His tone was studiously nonchalant, John thought he could even detect a tinge of self-deprecating humor underlying the words. He smiled, knowing full well his aim had been accomplished and with none of the difficulty he had expected.

"You might even say _encouraged_."

Leonard's vague smile became an all-out grin, even as his fingers twitched guiltily; he cleared his throat, wrapping his hand protectively about his covered wrist. "My Designation-"

"I thought I had made it plain it was of no consequence-"

"Let me finish my damn thought before I lose it." Leonard cut in laconically, resuming as though he hadn't been interrupted, "I don't know why my Designation is showing itself now, but as far as I'm concerned it doesn't change anything. I've been down this path with… someone else before, though."

John couldn't hide the short, sharp flash of jealousy that shot through him; he was aware of Jocelyn Darnell, aware of the frequent and amicable communications between she and Leonard even now. They had left scars on each other, Leonard and she, but it was solely Leonard's he was concerned with. It would make his courtship all the more difficult.

Evidently Leonard had misinterpreted his silence; he dropped onto the couch gracelessly, shutting his eyes while he hurriedly glossed over an explanation. "My ex-wife. You should know about her, I guess. Point is, if things change for you I need to hear it."

What questions would a man that did not know all the sordid details be comfortable asking? John slid down to his own side of the couch, mercifully looking out rather than at his companion. "Your wife? Was she also a Null?"

Leonard chuckled, fingers rising to massage his forehead before he caught the thoughtless action and forced them back down to his lap. "No. Opposite, in fact. She found hers and had to go. I don't place much stock in it myself, and I won't be seeking out-" he coughed, righted himself and continued, "whoever this is."

"Khan." John interjected, _needing_ to hear the name on Leonard's lips at least once, an open acknowledgment of the claim they had upon each other.

"Khan." Leonard conceded graciously, finally meeting his eyes again, lips drawn tight until John wanted nothing so much as to kiss away that hardness at his mouth, lewd and wicked enough that Leonard would completely forget his noble intentions.

"So there's no need to worry." Leonard tried to finish on a light note, but the words fell with all the weight of his conviction. Doubtless the Null John Harrison would have been reassured.

Nearing the end of his patience, John swarmed across the space dividing them, pausing only when he could feel Leonard's warmth against him and see the flicker of interest in his eyes. "I assure you, Leonard, I will have no cause for jealousy."

Leonard swallowed reflexively, eyes following the movement of John's lips; now seemed as good a time as any to steal a kiss, just something to ground him until they could finish off this conversation. At the moment, he craved the reassurance of human touch. He leaned in, fully intending to carry through when John's next words stopped him cold.

"I intend to make certain that you are mine in every respect."

One day they would have to talk about how John always sounded as though he had stepped off the set of a holo-vid; Leonard would delight in introducing him to some of the slang cadets were throwing around campus-side… just now that cultured voice sounded too damn seductive to be borne, and while he knew the words should be sending up a red flag of warning, Len found himself warming to the blatant possessiveness in John's tone. John intended to keep him, and damned if he wasn't discovering he enjoyed the strange power that came of knowing that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA! I said I would have it posted tonight and I do! Victory!! :D
> 
> Hopefully that was a hiatus the length of which will not be repeated again! I got more than a little caught up with a thesis and the rest of the semester, but this one is looking far better so I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
> 
> Next chapter is on the way! :)
> 
> If anyone finds it relevant, this chapter's title comes from Latin, meaning "bad faith", and implies a certain amount of willful self-deception or a poorly negotiated contract clause.


	9. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm.

_We've got this backwards._

Leonard didn't voice the thought aloud, mostly because his mouth was more gainfully occupied. Who the hell needed to catch a breath anyway? Except that had been the whole point of his coming… to _talk_ : get to know one another, where they stood, what the ground rules were going to be-

Except that John's hand had slid so firmly up the back of his neck, tilting his head to just the right angle for a soft kiss pressed beneath the curve of his ear. There was blatant invitation in the way his fingers threaded through Leonard's hair, temptation in every languid kiss-

After all, better men than he had succumbed, Leonard reasoned. He hadn't required any extra coaxing when John pulled demandingly at his shirt, fingers plying the buttons with a skill the surgeon in him envied. John certainly hadn't protested when he returned the favor, only when he moved away to get a better view.

He had only ever seen John in shadow, lit by meager street-lamps or an early morning glow just spreading through his room. With the late afternoon sunlight bathing the room, Leonard was forced to concede he was a sight to behold. Not that he had more than a second to admire the view before John was tugging him impatiently to his feet, guiding him toward the bedroom with unseemly haste.

Silence spoke louder than words, and here they were, tangled on his bed, _not_ talking.

A nagging voice at the back of his mind- one that sounded suspiciously like Jim- whispered that if conversation was what he had in mind he wouldn't have been so careful to pack a change of clothes. Leonard was willing to admit he might possibly be guilty as charged. He was still off-balance, still wrestling with a nagging feeling of something forgotten, and his hesitance must have shown because John was the first to pull away.

Seeing the studying look in his eye, the way his head tilted ever so slightly to the right as though he were regarding a particularly uncooperative equation, Leonard hurriedly put another half inch of breathing room between them.

A moue of disappointment graced John's lips for all of a second, but it was gone so quickly Leonard couldn't be certain his own vanity hadn't put it there. He scrambled for a way to break the heavy silence between them, discarding all the tempting ideas that first presented themselves, most of them involving the exact opposite of protest.

"Hungry? I'm not in this part of town much, but there's a café not three blocks over I swear makes the best meringue I've ever had." That and it was open-air. Maybe the brisk weather would cool him down.

"Dessert?" John arched a genuinely puzzled brow, almost visibly shaking off the mood. Leonard would have laughed aloud at the confusion writ large in every line of John's face if he hadn't still been a little out of breath himself.

"It's one of my rules of leave that dessert is served first. For me, at least." He conceded, but what man in his right mind would pass up meringue for a sandwich?

Thinking about it… possibly Scotty. _Definitely_ Scotty.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, gamely trying to maneuver back into his shirt while still lying half-supine. The effort met with mixed success, mostly because he wasn't sure he wanted to get up yet.

"Dessert then." John stood, adjusting his clothes in the same efficient movement. How the hell he accomplished it Len wasn't sure, but damned if that didn't make it doubly fascinating to watch. Almost he regretted his resolution to bide his time, except he wasn't Jim to rush in where angels feared to tread at every opportunity, and heaven knew he had already dived headfirst into the deep end.

Ergo, what could be the harm in enjoying the fall?

No. Food, drink, friendly conversation, maybe a slightly longer stroll so he could show off the city he called home. Slowly he buttoned his shirt, taking his sweet time when he noticed John wasn't even going to bother with the pretense of glancing away. Maybe they could cut the evening short and make it back in time for a less rushed encore of their first night. Probably. Why the hell had he even suggested food anyway?

Right, small talk. Conversation. Friendship. Things he valued. It was always good to know whom he was in bed with, both literally and figuratively. All he knew so far was that John Harrison didn't _technically_ outrank him, that they were in polar opposite divisions and that neither one of them precisely cared for the San Fran club scene. Hell, what if he didn't like dessert?

Leonard coughed sheepishly, kneeling to rifle through his bag for longer sleeves."It doesn't have to be dessert. There's another place-"

"Dessert is fine." Chagrin mingled perfectly with amusement, voice still a little on the husky side. A quick glance confirmed John was in fact staring at his jeans, arms crossed defensively across his chest as though to keep his hands from wandering.

Leonard leapt up and hurried from the room before he could take John up on his unconscious offer. He _was_ hungry. A few snacks with Jim was nothing to a grown man, but they could save that walk for later. The city wasn't going anywhere and he had clothes enough for tomorrow.

"You more of a cake or a pie person?" Trick question, the answer was both.

"Either."

Or either. Of course, it effectively put an end to the conversational gambit he had been going for, leaving Leonard scrambling to fill the heavy silence with something both entertaining and innocuous. Two topics that tended to be mutually exclusive in his experience.

John didn't seem particularly keen on rescuing him from the conundrum either, leaning against the door with a studied nonchalance entirely at odds with the typical calm and poise he had been projecting from the first moment Leonard had laid eyes on him. Some of the stiffness seeped out of his posture, eyes no longer quite so sharp or fixated. Another new facet, charming in its own right. It looked like he even had half a chance of getting past the threshold without being jumped.

"The hell are we waiting for? I'm ready."

"I was hoping you would change your mind." He straightened with a disappointed sigh, gliding out of the room without so much as a backward glance. And it _was_ a glide. It made Leonard feel like a lumbering ox in comparison.

 

 

 

"Medical research, you said?"

Leonard started guiltily, he had missed at least half the sentence while contemplating how important it was that they clear the air tonight. Was it really important enough to go to all the trouble of eating in public or could they get away with take-out and set it aside for a late snack? No telling when he might be needed aboard the _Enterprise_ again, and unless he was missing his guess John looked like the sort of man who slept with his comm set to its highest volume.

"CMO. _Enterprise_."

"Yes, but what was your first love, doctor?"

"Immunology." A self-deprecating laugh slipped free. This was the part where his partner's eyes inevitably glazed over. Most of them hoped for harrowing stories of laboratory malfunctions and unexpected outbreaks of unidentifiable pathogens. Not that he couldn't spin a tale or two in that direction after a couple years in Jim's company, but the reality was decidedly less spectacular.

He prepared the standard fare: third year academy, Jim, Gaila, and he with nothing better to do than-

"How did you make the leap from immunologist to surgeon?"

Had he been that specific the night before last? Leonard cast a suspicious eye in John's direction. Either he had been entirely more forthcoming than he had realized or Harrison had looked him up.

"You looked me up?"

"Glass houses." John murmured archly.

Leonard wasn't even going to ask how he had been found out, and really was it his fault Jim couldn't leave well enough alone? Not that he had protested when Jim had first proposed the idea of combing through academy records for one of the embarrassing first-day holos they all had in the database.

John Harrison didn't have one, but they had shared a good laugh over their own.

"Fair point. My father was a surgeon, maybe it just runs in the family." He shrugged eloquently, hoping that would draw this particular topic to a close. Model student he had _not_ been.

Seeing that John was winding up to ask precisely the questions he wasn't in a mood to answer, Leonard hurriedly changed the subject. "London to San Fran. How's that treating you? Must've been short notice."

"Very short." For a split second, John's expression was wiped clean of any emotion. Leonard shivered unconsciously, combating the urge to put another bare inch of space between them. The next instant John was smiling again, a little whimsical, a little sharp. "And very worthwhile."

"It's a beautiful city." Leonard tactfully ignored the lapse, though every last shred of curiosity demanded he pry. There were aspects of Starfleet he didn't care to dwell on too long, specifically those parts that dealt more with the militaristic aspect of their paramilitary operation. If he had to venture a guess, and John had all but confirmed it the past night, they were liking working on two very different sides of the same coin. Obviously John was none too pleased about it.

"It is."

Again Leonard found himself scrambling for a conversational gambit, something to break the silence of the walk.

"Why here? You'll be working at the academy, I assume- temporary teaching position?"

"Research." Another dead end, but John took pity on him at last, deigning to elaborate only slightly. "Nothing too time-consuming, mostly model construction."

"Should leave you plenty of time for exploring the city then."

"If only I had a guide."

Leonard's lips quirked at the theatrical sigh that accompanied the words. "I could fit in an hour here and there, but my repertoire is mostly tourist gigs and good food. Speaking of." He gestured to the smaller brick building ahead on their right, nearly swallowed up by the larger buildings surrounding it. "This place is home to some of the best sweets in the area. Breakfast ain't half-bad either."

Unfortunately, the crowd gathered outside proved his point a little too well. Half the city had to be waiting for a table.

"I think perhaps we should settle for take-out."

"I swear you read my mind." Leonard murmured. Take-out. A quiet dinner and dessert on that monstrous couch, watching as the sun began to set, comfortable conversation and nothing between them but a couple plates and empty space. He really should have brought that wine-

A quick stop on the way back would correct that soon enough, and their evening would be set. He found himself warming to the idea the more he considered it. Which was just as well considering John had ever so casually linked an arm through his and was skillfully navigating the swell of humanity. Leonard fell into step naturally, hoping John wouldn't notice there was just a hint of something proprietary in the way he drew closer, more protective than defensive. He was not a jealous man, had no cause to be anyway, but he couldn't miss the way everyone's eyes seemed to flick to John and linger.

He tended to have that effect on people Leonard conceded in the privacy of his own thoughts. Exhibit A: Himself. It was such a damn shame _not_ to look.

Neither one of them bothered with the menu, and though Leonard tried to pretend he wasn't inordinately pleased when John all but purred "I'll have the same", he could see a knowing smile ghost across those lips.

His face had always been an open book, but that had never quite distressed him as much as it did now.

"I don't suppose you want to watch a vid when we get back?"

The knowing smile curved into a wicked smirk, sending a frisson of delight curling up Leonard's spine. "Not particularly."

Leonard felt his lips curving into an answering smile, every attempt at stifling it only making it grow wider until he was inevitably grinning like a lunatic. "Reading my mind again?"

 

 

* * *

 

The sunset was beautiful. Bright enough that John's eyes prickled with sensitivity, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. What damage it inflicted would soon heal, though he could sense Leonard fretting beside him, debating in his own mind whether he should chide his partner for looking into the sun.

Good food and decent wine had left them both relaxed, perfectly at ease in each other's company for the first time since Leonard had strode through the door. He could be certain now that Leonard was staying the night, they had established that over the first course, halfway through the first glass of dessert wine.

The sweetness was new to him and lingered on his tongue, not unpleasantly.

They had bantered a little, laughed, but nothing of substance had been said and it was clear Leonard was still gathering his courage to do just that. John was tempted to ambush him now that he had been plied with food and drink, lay out every possible concern Leonard might have and address them directly, but he sensed that would be entirely the wrong method. Leonard was a cautious man, and his unease had been blindingly apparent this afternoon.

In time there would be very few secrets between them, but for now John had his own reasons for being ill at ease.

"You got lucky with this apartment. There probably aren't many views like this." John hummed his agreement, sensing they had at last come to the crisis point.

"You're sure it won't bother you, my staying the night? You're just getting moved in and all."

"Not at all."

He could feel the change in Leonard's demeanor even without looking at him, the sudden return of confidence and good humor. "Guess I'll stick around then."

The couch dipped slightly as Leonard edged closer, pressing them shoulder to shoulder, John suspected he would never tire of the warmth in the gesture. "D'you prefer sunrises or sunsets?"

John blinked, abruptly reminded that even if he lived for a thousand years more he would never entirely understand the internal workings of Leonard's mind.

"Sunset." It was a recently formed opinion, but it appeared to meet with Leonard's approval. "And you?"

"Never saw a sunrise I liked. Humans just aren't meant to rise that early. At least I used to think so, but the more times I go up there-" Leonard shuddered, making it plain exactly what he referred to, "The more I think I should just be grateful I'm seeing sunlight at all."

"If you loathe space so much, why choose Starfleet?"

"Can't say."

"Cannot or will not?"

"Little of both, I guess. Like most of my best decisions, it started when I got roaring drunk." Thick sarcasm coated the words, self-deprecating laughter edging every syllable. "I blame it on too many adventure vids at an impressionable age." The laughter trailed off. His hand moved to clasp his wrist and suddenly John could feel shame radiating from him again. It wasn't any great leap to presume why.

"Adventure or romance, doctor?"

"Pardon?" An incredulous bark of panicked laughter. His doctor was a dreamer at heart.

"Did you ever suspect you might encounter your Designated?" He was pressing too hard, backing Leonard into a corner, but it was a conversation they were bound to have and in this he would indulge his impulsiveness.

"Do the psychiatry appointments come free with the bed?" Leonard's hand tightened for a split second and released, "It's none of your damn business, how's that for an answer?"

Anger was far preferable to shame, but if this went any farther he risked Leonard leaving. He chose the better part of valor, reaching out to pour them both just a little more wine.

"I'm sorry if I've offended you. It's…" He paused artfully, waiting for Leonard to take the bait. He didn't disappoint.

An anxious shift and an annoyed huff of breath, a small sip of wine and he pounced. "It's?"

"I never wanted to be a Null." John's voice rang with conviction, thoroughly disconcerting him. It wasn't something he had ever considered in his first lifetime. Why bother regretting a gift that had never been his for the taking? That was exactly how he had thought of Designations before the brutality of warfare necessitated more strategic considerations… gifts.

"And there are so many planets out there, entire sentient species born without Designations that see no need of them. I thought I might find someone…"

Leonard leaned into him, heavier than before, offering mute comfort. "No need to go all that way." He nearly felt guilty for his manipulation, and that in itself was indication enough of his regard for this man.

A moment later and Leonard belatedly realized what he had said, John could tell from the sudden rouge in his cheeks. He covered it quickly with a swig of wine that set him to coughing fitfully. Through it all John waited.

"I honestly can't tell if I've had too much or too little to drink for this conversation, but it's definitely one of those two."

"Your work, then. What drew you to it?"

"Subtle. Very subtle." Wry amusement, annoyance rapidly disappearing. "But that's a hell of a story."

This was dangerous ground for him, he had not considered what answers he might give if the question were directed to him. There wasn't enough information on 'John Harrison' for him to piece together a coherent narrative, but if he intended to keep Leonard close that would have to be the next item of business he addressed. For the moment though, he was content to listen as his Designated spun tales of adventures he could only believe after reading the reports for himself in Starfleet's database. The sheer number of times he had nearly lost his soul before ever meeting him was staggering, and for Leonard to have survived this long- it was humbling, knowing this man had once thrived without him.

It worried at him, made him wonder what would happen if Leonard ever learned to live without him again.

He pushed the thought from his mind just as he pushed Leonard back into the plush of the couch, stealing the last of his words with a kiss meant to imprint an indelible memory on stubborn lips. There was the barest hesitation before Leonard finally relaxed into his embrace, a whispered 'the hell with it' before he found himself pushed lengthwise into the cushions, Leonard tucked just far enough to the side to bear his own weight, deepening their kiss until he forgot to remember they were anything other than John Harrison and Leonard McCoy.

 

 

* * *

 

Leonard hummed cheerfully while he brushed his teeth, grinning with gusto at his own reflection under the guise of inspecting his handiwork. Damned if he didn't know how to clean up well.

Not that he had anywhere in particular to be, but John was always so immaculate he was usually left feeling like a slob in comparison. Not today. Today he had busted out his best shirt- the only one besides his uniform shirt that had a buttoned collar, and his favorite jeans had actually been replaced with a half-decent pair of trousers. Nothing too fancy, but a sight better than his normal gear.

John slipped in behind him, already somehow put together, not a thread out of place. He was still moving slowly in the morning, a rather endearing shuffle in his steps before he splashed a little water onto his face, gazing into the mirror with self-loathing.

"Mornin', sunshine."

John's narrow-eyed glance suggested he was taking his life into his hands. Leonard blithely ignored it. Worst case scenario they would end up back in bed, all their best laid plans wasted. It didn't sound like a half bad idea.

"What time did you finally get to bed?"

"The sun was rising."

"That's the third time this week. The hell do they think you are, a machine?" It was the third time in as many days, and Leonard was beginning to wonder how John kept the exhaustion from showing on his face. If someone found a way to bottle and sell stamina like that, Len was sure they would make a killing.

"I could try writing you a doctor's note."

"How devious." John chuckled, dipping in behind him to press a kiss to the back of his neck. It wasn't fair the way that still sent goosebumps racing down his arms.

"I think you meant to say 'genius.'"

"Of course."

They shared a complicit smile in the mirror, just a shade on the devilish side.

He could feel John's deep sigh behind him, the reluctance with which he at last pulled away. "But not today. I'm due at the academy in just under a half hour-"

"You're already late."

"We'll see." With that cryptic statement, John took his leave, not seeming the least bit surprised when Leonard followed. "Will you be here when I return?"

"Depends. I have to head home and pick up a few things. Then I thought I'd accompany Scotty, there's some sort of mechanics exhibition he swears he'd give his left arm to see-"

"I won't be home until this evening. Supper?"

"Sounds good. Who's cooking?"

"Whomever is home first?"

Leonard made a mental note to be very certain he was home first. It wasn't that John was a _bad_ cook per se, just that after years of eating his own cooking, he was a little spoiled.

"That works. I'll see you then."

A final kiss goodbye and John was on his way. Leonard could have told him there was no need to hurry, there wasn't a chance in hell he'd make it to the academy in less than a solid forty five minutes, and with Starfleet one minute late was much the same as an hour. He didn't bother, John was already down the stairs and out of sight.

 

 

 

 

 

Two weeks. That was all the time it had taken for Leonard to finally cede to the inevitable and start spending his nights in John's apartment. What had once been a bleak, utilitarian affair was quickly turning into a home.

There were new pillows on the couch, spares Leonard insisted he could not do without. The kitchen was stocked to the brim with spices and tools whose use John couldn't begin to guess at, padds hidden in the most unlikely of places and the bedsheets in constant disarray. Leonard might begin his work at the desk, but somehow he always ended up curled into the comforter, padd tucked in his hand and pillows under his chest. Not that John was one to object, it had proved convenient in the long run.

Every so often odd bits of technology found their way in to, puzzles that Leonard liked to worry at for hours before finally admitting defeat. Only to be up and working on them again the minute he had a spare moment.

John had started to bring his own creations home, diagrams and models that didn't fall within his classified work, mechanical riddles he had created himself. A time or two Leonard had unwittingly helped him with Section Thirty-one's mandate, though John would not for all the world have burdened him with that knowledge. Curious as he was, Leonard seemed to sense when he was prying too much.

They were content. And if, every now and again, Leonard glanced at the script on his wrist, those times were becoming fewer and farther between. Each one served as a reminder that he was _not_ John Harrison, no matter how tempting the illusion had become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooow. I know AO3 says "January" but it honestly feels like a month or two ago. My perception of time is broken.
> 
> But hey, I'm back and writing again and the next few chapters have practically written themselves now that I have kicked off a truly lethal attack of writer's block.
> 
> Thank you everyone for your patience and encouragement! :)


	10. The Last Supper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim arranges a welfare check, Chekov gets a date, and Leonard knows this has to go wrong because it always does.

For the first time in weeks, Leonard found himself eating alone in the academy's mess. Usually John managed to clear his schedule enough to fit in an hour or so, enough time for them to sneak off and have a decent lunch together, swapping gossip as easily as they did their food. Today of all days John had been forced to message him asking for a rain check. Meaning that he would have to break the news of his impending departure sometime this evening just before Scotty dragged him out for a night of classic vids and regrettable choices.

A night Leonard found he was no longer looking forward to now that he knew they would be off-planet so soon. He wanted nothing so much as to order take-out and stay in, letting it go cold while he and John made up for all the time they were about to lose. At least a week if Jim's reckoning was anything to go by. Ten days according to Spock.

Leonard was worried Spock might be right. He usually was.

Scotty had suggested a little pre-mission revelry, just a night among friends with a good bottle of whiskey and a few classic vids before they were back to work again. At Leonard's house, of course, since he was the only one fortunate enough to have neighbors farther away than the other side of a wall and drunk always meant rowdy when it came to Scotty.

His protests had been easily overcome: it wasn't healthy, Jim assured him, the way he had clicked so easily into John's life. Somehow his favorite possessions had all migrated to John's apartment, and he couldn't remember the last time he had slept in his own bed. John monopolized most of his free days too, whether it was taking in the city or stealing a lazy day at home. Sometimes he even allowed himself to be talked into assisting with John's secretive work. Not that it required much convincing, he was curious by nature and lately John's work seemed to place him squarely in Leonard's sandbox: medical research.

Much as he hated to admit it, Jim was right; tonight was supposed to be about his oldest friends, he owed it to them after virtually dropping off the radar for a few weeks.

He had just dipped in to his mashed potatoes when he caught sight of Sulu making his way toward him from across the hall. His usual smile was conspicuously absent, brow clouded with something Leonard would have called 'worry' in anyone else. If Jim had actually managed to rattle their next to unshakable pilot with one of his hare-brained stunts Len was going to have words with him. Words like 'performance review' and 'mandatory leave' for starters.

"Can I have a moment or is there somewhere you need to be?" His expression was stiff, guarded even, no sign of the mischief that usually lit his eyes. This was business then, definitely not good news.

Leonard counted backward from ten, forcing the unease down. Sulu was nothing if not blunt, and if it had been an emergency he would not have bothered with coming to the mess. If it had been an emergency, Jim would have commed personally.

"You can have a few, but as always the 'no shop talk' rule is in effect while I'm eating."

Sulu began to pluck at his sleeve like a guilty child, scanning the hall in a desperate attempt to find another friendly face. His eyes screamed that he would rather have been anywhere else but sitting across from his crewmate while he ate. Obviously whatever business he was on, he had drawn the short straw and now hoped to appease his prey with food and casual conversation.

"If you really need to talk shop I could get you set up for an appointment sometime this-"

"It's nothing serious." Hikaru slid onto the bench across from him, clasping his hands on the table to study the backs like they held the answer to whatever pressing question he needed to ask. At last he looked up to catch Leonard's gaze, disconcertingly intent."I heard through the grapevine your friend-"

"My friend?" Leonard fought to keep his twitching lips from turning up into a smile. He lost the battle when Sulu shot him a reproaching glance, full of frustration.

"He's a Null." Sulu finished, perhaps a tad desperately, giving up any pretense of subtlety.

Brought back to the matter at hand, Leonard frowned. Sulu had never been a fanatical Naturalist. Crueler tongues suggested that since he had lost his Designated at such a young age, he had to hold out hope for someone. But anyone that breathed a word like that near his friends was liable to find themselves shackled to a desk while they nursed a few bruises.

It wasn't something Sulu ever brought up, and he had made it abundantly clear that even friendly interference was unappreciated. This was the last conversation Leonard had ever expected to have with him.

"I don't see that it matters." He tried for a mild tone but it came out as more of a threatening rumble. Between Jim's frequent hints that it was verging on the creepy how quickly he had taken up with John and Jocelyn's enthusiastic relief that he was actually seeing someone, Leonard had had it to his back teeth with commentary on his private affairs. Be damned if anyone was going to guilt trip him for not seeking out his damned-

"I know it's a personal question, but how's it working out? So far."

Sulu's eyes darted away for a split second before flicking back to lock with Leonard's once more, studying him.

Leonard finally gave up any pretense of understanding where the conversation was going. "What's this about?"

"Choosing." Sulu spoke slowly, picking his words carefully, "Choosing Harrison over your Designated. Would you do it again?"

"You know me better'n to think I'd change my mind that easy. As for how it's working, well enough that I'd like to keep it that way indefinitely." Leonard tried for a grin. Clearly his thoughts were moving at a snail's pace today because for the life of him he could not figure out what Sulu was getting at and why it was so imperative that they discuss it now instead of this evening.

He took in the guilty tic, the thoughtful frown, the way Sulu had finally looked away, almost ashamed- and suddenly it made sense.

"Is this about Chekov?" Len murmured slowly, suspicions confirmed when Sulu barely hid a wince. "That's one you're going to have to settle between yourselves. I've told you what I think about all this 'soulmate' nonsense." Leonard cursed his too-quick tongue. It wasn't 'nonsense' to Sulu; he had experienced what it was like to meet his Designated and lose him, all in a brutally short space of time.

It wasn't 'nonsense' that he had grieved and suffered for it.

When he spoke again, his tone was markedly more gentle. "If you're asking for my two cents, I still say sweep him off his feet. Lord knows he's been askin' you long enough."

"He hasn't even met his Designated yet. It just seems irresponsible to…" Sulu gestured to the table between them, managing to convey a wealth of meaning with a few scrambled gestures.

"Chekov is young, not stupid. But you know that and you knew what my answer would be, so why bother asking?" Why now was what he really wanted to say. Chekov and Sulu were the terrible twosome, seldom parted on duty or off. It was no secret that Chekov was hoping it would become something more, it was no secret that 'Hikaru Sulu' wasn't the name on his skin. By and large the crew was supportive, and those that weren't at least had the decency to shut up and mind their own business.

Perhaps with this newest mission looming Chekov had put in for a compassionate transfer? Unlikely, but not unheard of. With the looming prospect of a five-year mission ahead, perhaps they had decided to take a chance and see whether their connection would last. Either way, Leonard wished them the best of luck.

"This thing with Harrison was supposed to be a one-off. Five months later Jim wants to meet your boyfriend because the temperature in hell has to dip below zero before you'll leave him for a night out."

Leonard snorted, acknowledging the implied rebuke.

"So I wanted to know if you regretted it at all." Sulu gestured to his covered wrist.

"Should've asked me about Jocelyn instead." He chuckled humorlessly, pushing vegetables around his plate. Sulu wasn't moving to get up any time soon, still looking tense and a little pale.

"Your ex?"

"My ex." This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have over lunch, but… somehow it stung a little less, knowing that he was going home to someone that gave a damn about him and not the mark on his skin. Might as well give Sulu the worst case scenario, maybe he could even convince him it was worth the risk. Chekov wasn't Jocelyn, and Sulu wasn't him. Then again, he and Jocelyn had years together before their world came apart at the seams.

He took a sip of his water, half wishing it were bourbon, and began.

 

 

* * *

 

John's coat fairly reeked of disinfectant, the too sharp, too clean scent of the labs Section Thirty One kept at its lowest level. By now he was used to the imposition of reporting in every quarter; the battery of tests that ran from merely inconvenient to painfully undignified. It was the same exam every operative was subjected to periodically, but John doubted any of Marcus' other 'pets' had quite the same complicated relationship with laboratories and the denizens thereof as he.

Some nights he wondered why it was he did not feel the same spark of rage and helplessness when he saw Leonard don the same uniform.

It was his expressiveness, John suspected. Leonard never wore the mask of indifferent curiosity he had come to associate with the doctors and technicians of his youth. The man was utterly without guile, incapable of pretending the bloody reality of his work left him untouched. That quality was equal parts reassuring and troubling to him. Leonard would never understand what had been done to him, would never forgive what he had done in his turn. Or what he was about to do.

Every minute counted now, every tick of Leonard's old clock a stark reminder that the seconds were running through his fingers like so much sand. He was due in London within the month. Leonard knew, of course. He would think nothing of it when John left that morning to consult with the London branch- rather one lieutenant Harewood, whose only child still stubbornly clung to life despite a grim prognosis. John intended to strike a devil's bargain- the daughter's life for the father's, and the father's for the lives of his crew and comrades.

He would have to leave his comm behind. Leonard would call when the reports first came in, and by then it would be too late to turn back. The farther away Leonard was the safer he would be. Marcus, in his unimaginative way, would assume that Khan's attack was a decision- his crew over his Designated. He would never credit that Khan would risk so many for the sake of one, he could not possibly understand the idea of a family not bound by blood.

It should never have come to this. If he had been more discrete, if Marcus had been less wary or more reasonable, his crew would even now be safely smuggled into their protective capsules within Marcus' prototypes. He could have stayed then, for a time. He could have deluded himself into believing he could manage a permanent arrangement with Marcus, one without the leverage of his crew to keep him in check. There would have been ample opportunity to explain all to Leonard, time to convince him of their bond and ensure that when he left at last it would not be alone.

But he had been discovered, all his carefully laid plans reduced to so much dust. Only now Marcus had yet another hostage, one that could be transferred off-world or to another ship with a flick of his pen. He had reminded Khan of it, taunted him with the possibility of 'commandeering' Leonard's services for his own work, forcing him to confront in the most brutal way who his Designated was. Marcus understood his threat well enough; he was so careful to keep his own daughter from it, shuffling her between branches every time uncomfortable questions came to light.

John was tempted to take her from him; show her the truth of her father and kill her before her father's ever-watching eyes, let him suffer what he had so easily threatened to do first-hand. But that would be no more than spite, and he would have vengeance enough with Marcus dead and his prized ship in Augment hands.

At last John reached the landing of the topmost floor. The hardness about his eyes softened only slightly, his shoulders lifting as he shrugged off the weight of his thoughts. He could hear Leonard moving inside their home, a pleasant cacophony of clanging steel and off-key whistling, his footsteps moving around the kitchen unhurriedly- all of them contented sounds, more pleasant to his ears now than the silence he had learned to live with during his first weeks awake.

Today especially he was eager to be home, their customary lunch canceled for the sake of a grueling interview with Marcus' lapdogs.

The tang of citrus and spice drifted out to him before he even opened the door, the merry sizzle of a pan whose contents were a hodge-podge of whatever had been closest to hand. It wasn't that Leonard enjoyed cooking, far from it, but after a few of the meals John had attempted making himself he had tactfully assumed the lion's share of cooking duty.

In Leonard McCoy's eyes, tact was stating bluntly, "Do you eat like this all the time?" The mute look of mingled dread and determination was enough to warn him that would no longer be the case.

John paused on the threshold for a beat as the door opened, unable to take his eyes from his Designated. He frequently needed to remind himself of who this man was to him, just a reassurance that even if his mark was not visible the bond was still every bit as tangible. He was bent over the stove, too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice the intrusion into his domestic scene. Most days he would wait until John returned before beginning supper, they would move around the kitchen in perfect sync with Leonard seasoning and stirring and John cutting and cleaning, not willing to test his Designated's reflexes against the edge of a knife.

Why he insisted on using steel John still could not understand, but Leonard had brought the knives, and he would notice if they abruptly disappeared.

It was absurd to concern himself with something so small as an accidental graze, but he knew it was the same protective instinct acting on him that made Leonard hiss with dismay when he moved too quickly at his tasks, too caught up in the easy atmosphere to notice how the blades would fly in his fingers-

"Are you just gonna stand there all night?" Leonard turned, smiling lopsidedly. "I'm getting together with Jim and Scotty this evening. They're probably going to take me for every credit to my name, but I wanted to eat with you first."

"A last meal for the condemned?" John tried not to let his annoyance show, but if the softening around Leonard's eyes was any indication, he had failed remarkably.

"I was going to put it off until this weekend, but it's been awhile and they're raring to go. The Enterprise might have actual work this week. We don't want to take a chance on missing out. Besides, I'm guessing you have to be a little tired of my company by now." Leonard shrugged with good humor, turning back to the stove before John could offer a vehement denial.

It was considerably more difficult to arrange his affairs now that he had to work around Leonard's schedule, but it had taken no small amount of subterfuge to keep Leonard content to remain in the apartment rather than returning to his own home. All that effort would be for nothing if his friends convinced him to leave now.

But the fastest way to chase him out would be to cling too tightly. To Leonard this was only the honeymoon period of a new relationship, not a serendipitous twist of fate that had been centuries in the making.

"Will you be back tonight?"

"Not sure. I might just stay over at my place. Something tells me I'll have my hands full with a few boisterous drunks before the night is over."

John slipped in behind him, pressing a kiss to the bare skin at the side of his neck. Leonard let his head tilt naturally, not so much as a cursory effort to protect the vulnerable area. John shivered with a complicated mixture of delight at his easy trust and a sickening wrench of guilt at how soon he would betray it. "I thought I had made it clear you could consider this your home."

"I've been all but incommunicado for nearly a month now. A night out is the least I owe, and time off will do us both good."

Refreshing as Leonard's honesty could be it was also damnably inconvenient when he applied it to himself. The man was entirely too self-aware to be easily manipulated. Khan loved that in him. Most days John did too.

Common sense warned him this was not the time to push. He had already taken a mile for the bare inch Leonard had offered by making him all but relocate into the city proper. Now he would have to compromise or risk an outright refusal.

He should move, make himself useful around the kitchen or change his clothes to something that didn't constantly remind him of where he had spent his day. Instead he tightened his grip, enjoying Leonard's scent and the steady throb of his heartbeat.

"Not the best day?" Leonard murmured sympathetically, leaning into him.

"Routine physical. Nothing demanding, I'm afraid."

"Did everything go alright?"

"Hm." John applied himself to making Leonard forget this particular line of inquiry, letting his hands wander over his hips, down his thighs and back up again. Even now he craved contact, coveted even the thoughtless nudges when they passed too close in the hallway.

With a click Leonard turned the stove off and pushed away, sliding out to put distance between them. "That wasn't really an answer. I don't mean to pry but-"

"I've never cared much for doctors. You are a notable exception." The words slipped from him so quickly John did not even have the time to consider whether it was the right answer, but the light of understanding in Leonard's eyes said it would do.

"We're more than our craft."

" _You_ are." Their conversation was verging into perilous waters and Leonard blissfully unaware. Thankfully he chose that moment to close the distance between them, pressing his weight reassuringly into John.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Maybe I'll even change your mind." A lewd grope and smothered chuckle at John's unintended start lent the words promise. Intrigued, he caught Leonard to him, moving against him suggestively, uncaring if he seemed desperate or undisciplined. This man stripped him of any thought for pride.

For a moment it seemed as though Leonard was going to give in, mouthing at his pulse, tracing over the dips of his cheekbones and down to his lips to take a lingering kiss. His hand tightened, promising everything John craved-

"Dammit, we need to eat. I'm leaving in just over an hour and supper's ready-"

John pressed his lips to the curve of an exposed ear, thumb brushing the soft skin just behind that always threw Leonard a little off balance. "Leave it."

The answering full body shudder was all the agreement he needed.

 

* * *

 

Leonard had expected Jim would be the first to show, probably all but beating down the door in his enthusiasm. The thought of a mission- even one so inconsequential as a geological survey- had put him in a remarkably good mood. He had started to experience withdrawal after going so long without sitting in his beloved captain's chair. Instead it was Spock's perfectly neutral expression that greeted him as he opened the door, while behind him Uhura appeared to be wrangling a blushing Chekov.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Spock."

"I advised Nyota that you had not extended an invitation, but she insisted-"

Leonard rolled his eyes, grabbing the collar of Spock's shirt to haul him forward. "Get in, and remember that you did this to yourself so I don't want to hear any whining later."

"Vulcans do not whine."

Uhura glanced up, sharing a commiserating glance with Leonard over his shoulder. Vulcans never whined, and the sun never rose in the East either.

"Do we have any champagne? Chekov's got a hot date tomorrow and he'll be here any minute." Uhura cackled as he eeled out of her playful grip, making frantic shushing sounds. Leonard didn't bother hiding his grin; it seemed there had been a point to Sulu's abrupt interrogation after all.

"No champagne, but I think I have some leftover brandy somewhere. Pavel can have juice."

Even Spock managed a slight quirk of the lips at that, though Leonard suspected it was more from the sound of Uhura's laughter than his own attempt at wit.

"Scotty commed. He's running late and Jim is with him." She breezed in, Chekov following dazedly in her wake.

"Overtime?"

"Hm, no. He got an early start on the party."

"Meaning?"

Scotty and Jim. Scotty and Jim together. Scotty and Jim together unsupervised. The first time that had happened, space had ripped. Granted, it hadn't been demonstrably their fault, but each successive time had done nothing to allay his fears.

"Scotty says he has something to show us."

"I think that might not be good." Chekov chimed in, ever the optimist.

"Might not." Uhura had already nested on the couch; Spock had even unbent enough to settle next to her, curling a thoughtlessly possessive arm about her shoulder. She curled into him, resting her head in the hollow there. Anyone who saw them would have sworn that dip in Spock's shoulder had been fashioned for just such a pose; she fit there too well for it be by anything but design. The gesture sent a curious pang of disappointment through Leonard. He knew John's schedule was demanding but it would have been nice if, just once, he could have dragged him along to meet the gang. He reminded himself that time spent working now meant more later that they wouldn't have to share.

"So, what are we watching tonight?"

"Something scary?" Chekov settled on the floor, beaming hopefully.

"I agree." Spock added, snapping out of his adoring haze just long enough to acknowledge decisions were being made.

Of course he did. Much as Leonard hated to disappoint a pleading face like that, he hated even more Spock's incessant commentary on horror films.

"Majority rules here and we're still three short. We'll take a vote when the others get here."

A raucous laugh from outside punctuated his words, one with just a hint of Scotland in it; worse, a distinctly Kirk crow of delight followed shortly after. Despite himself, Leonard was smiling by the time he opened the door, though the sight that greeted him was nearly enough to wipe it from his face entirely.

Scotty was cradling his wrist, grinning like a loon at the skin there- Jim was latched firmly onto his other arm, craning to look at the script… Scotty was a Null. That couldn't just change overnight, even considering what had happened with his own Designation. Nulls didn't just spontaneously develop a mark and meet their mate all in one night. Meaning that-

"You got a tattoo?"

Leonard jumped, startled to find Uhura had pushed past him, gently turning Scotty's wrist to the light. There was nothing in her tone to indicate how unexpected it was, nothing but pure curiosity in her gaze.

"Let me see." Chekov skipped past him as well, crowding into the little group with no sign of self-consciousness. He clapped Scotty a hearty pat on the back, smiling every bit as widely.

It was Leonard alone that had to tamp down on a surge of foreboding. Just his upbringing rearing its head, he assured himself. There were people he knew back home that would have called that tattoo sacrilegious, a profane act perpetrated against the sacred. He hated himself for the jolt of fear that stole his breath for a second. It was a tattoo, and Scotty seemed pleased with it. There was no fate to tempt, and those people Leonard knew were a continent away, probably nosing into someone else's business.

So he swallowed the hateful lump and smiled again, gesturing for Scotty to show him. It didn't surprise him in the slightest to find U.S.S. Enterprise printed lovingly into Scotty's skin, a permanent reminder of all he had achieved and where his heart would always be.

"She's my lady, but I thought I'd make it official this afternoon." His chest puffed out proudly, Scotty hadn't noticed the way Leonard had flinched at first. Jim was watching though, and as always those eyes saw too much.

"Where did you say that champagne was?" Uhura cut in, casting Leonard an expectant look.

He perked up immediately, gesturing everyone inside and making straight for the cabinet where he kept his best drinks: "Not sure I have any, but for this I might have to get some."

"We were looking for champagne? What's the occasion?" Jim chimed in, looking to Spock.

"Ensign Chekov has secured a date with-"

"Finally." Jim cut in, "I wasn't sure how I was going to rig spin the bottle tonight."

"No games tonight, Jim. Vids, drinks, and conversation."

"Please? I have a dare, and I'm sure Spock would be fascinated by an anthropological case study of the phenomenon of sleepover games."

Spock looked like he might actually be giving the matter some thought; Leonard stepped in hastily, wrapping a solid arm around Jim's own: "I'll need your help with the drinks. Uhura, you're in charge 'til we get back."

"Aye, captain." Uhura snapped off a cocky salute, already casting covetous eyes toward the liquor cabinet. Maybe he actually would need Jim's help with the drinks.

"Unbelievable. You call him captain? This is mutiny."

"It's my house, that makes me captain." He nodded toward the reclining chair across the room,"And that is my captain's chair, which I am calling dibs on now."

"Honestly, Bones, you're killing me here."

 

 

 

Leonard chivvied Jim out of the house before he could protest any more, setting a ground-eating stride that even Jim's long legs should have had a hard time matching. Unfortunately it seemed he still had plenty of breath left to speak.

"You know it's just a tattoo, Bones." His grin of a minute ago was gone, replaced by a concern Leonard hadn't seen in years.

"I know, Jim, I do. Old habits, I guess. I hope he didn't notice."

"I don't think so. You're okay, right? You looked a little green for a second there."

Leonard shrugged, "Fine. It just feels like tempting fate, and I guess I'm more suspicious than I thought."

"Fate? You mean that thing you don't believe exists?"

"Like I said, old habits."

They walked in silence for awhile, Leonard taking in a neighborhood he hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime, and Jim marching companionably at his side, far too silent for his peace of mind. Leonard eyed Jim cautiously, but didn't press. There was something a little different about him; Jim was always energetic, but tonight his mood seemed almost frantically joyful. That was always the first warning sign with Jim. He tried so hard not to burden his friends and colleagues with his worries, smiled and laughed with the best of them until at last he lashed out- and being Jim Kirk, it was never on the small scale.

"How's it going with your boyfriend?" Jim hesitated over the word, uncomfortable. "I'm a little disappointed we haven't met him yet."

"Sorry, Dad, I'll mention you asked after him when I get home."

Home. His breath caught in surprise at uttering the word so carelessly, but somehow that was what the apartment had become. He felt like a stranger in the house here when he came alone, only the company of his friends enough to save it from being unwelcoming. His room on campus was still cozy at least, stocked with odds and ends and ready should he ever need to pull another all-nighter, but it was John he looked forward to returning to every evening. He sighed deeply, not noticing the way Jim's eyes narrowed with concern.

"So, you're good then?"

Leonard recognized that for the smokescreen it was, and said as much. "I'm fine or you would have been the first to know it. How are you? We haven't spoken in nearly a month; I was beginning to wonder if you had dropped off the face of the planet."

"You were busy."

"I would have made time."

"I was busy." Jim glanced up, drawing a deep breath of air and releasing it in a visible puff. "Getting my stuff in order and all. We could be off-planet by the start of the new year."

"You mean the five-year expedition?" Leonard's gut clenched like he had been punched. He'd been studiously ignoring the infrequent updates about their upcoming mission, preferring to think of it purely in a theoretical sense. Reality hit home hard. This thing with John, whatever it was, whatever it was becoming, probably wouldn't last through such an extended absence. Long distance relationships seldom prospered, he knew.

"It's not official or anything, but that's the time-frame I have right now. And we've got a geological survey this week. I can't wait to get off this rock."

That sounded like Jim, but the look on his face was altogether more conflicted. "You're getting off planet, you have the captain's chair and the ship you wanted, five years to make a name for her… what's not to like, Jim?"

Jim's breath hissed through his teeth, his smile amused and frustrated all at once. "Who said I didn't like it?"

"Your tone, for one." Leonard returned dryly, slanting him a thoroughly unimpressed look, "You're miffed about something, but damned if I can figure out what. I can't help unless you tell me, Jim."

"You've heard that saying about bad things coming in threes?"

"Sure." He responded cautiously, mystified at the turn their conversation had taken.

"Have you ever noticed that it always seems to come true?"

"You expect it to be true, so it appears to be. It's all in your head, Jim."

"Alright, take the opposite. Everything is good right now. Everything is perfect, never been better."

"Agreed. And?"

"I don't know. I just don't think it can last." Jim shrugged, "I keep wondering when it's all going to come tumbling down."

"I'm supposed to be the pessimist here, kid, and even I know that's not how it works- life won't always kick you in the teeth just when it's getting good."

"I know that, I just don't know if I'm ever going to believe it." He smiled as he said it, a self-deprecating but genuine curve of the lips. "But hey, between you and Spock maybe you'll finally convince me."

Leonard recognized that for the ending it was. If he tried to press now Jim would only stubbornly dig his heels in and refuse to listen. If he didn't change the subject, Jim would, and that would inevitably bring the subject back around to John, leaving him heartsick and already a little lonely at the thought of how soon they would need to break things off.

"Chekov and Uhura have already cast a vote for horror-"

"I could go for that."

"And if we're friends, you _won't_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Rambling Apology:
> 
>  
> 
> This was going to be the chapter where everything went to hell. But then I wanted to work in the last supper (And I *will* be coming back to add smut because that just begs for it) And when things fall apart it all happens fast and it's everything at once. Which means it's taking me _for-frikking-ever_ to write it. The tone shift between this part and that part is substantial enough that it won't feel weird making it two chapters.
> 
> With the LSAT and moving, school and HW and I haven't had as much time for this as I would like. But I'm trying to update all my major fics ( Including Odds Against :D )) this month before I _really_ start drowning in work, so...
> 
> I'm sorry for the disappointment, but consider this my promise that this fic is still alive and kicking?


	11. Winter of the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonard nearly loses a crew mate, and John is definitely up to something.
> 
> John is striking an infernal bargain with Thomas Harewood and sowing the seeds for the disaster ahead.
> 
> In the midst of all this, very important words are exchanged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter does come with a (small) warning:
> 
> If rimming or hints of it squick you, skip the sentence where Bones reaches for the bedside table. It's short and sweet and easy to skip.
> 
> If it _is_ your cup of tea, then read on! ^.^
> 
> Lighter warning for taking serious liberties with the source material. Including my science, which is always pseudo.
> 
> Also, sorry for the lack of smut, but the sex here was meant to be more feelings. So... I'll make it up to you all with interest in future chaps.

"Geological survey, my ass." Leonard snapped, after.

After his world almost fell apart, after he was forced to listen helplessly while one of his closest friends prepared for a senseless death. After Jim had violated a directive they had sworn to uphold at the expense of their lives. After Spock reluctantly reported to the infirmary, smudged and weary but otherwise looking no worse for wear.

Privately, his heart broke for Uhura- her designated had been in danger and she unable to do more than receive what may have been his final message. If he was a little rougher than usual during the post-mission exam, Spock didn't comment.

"That was a rescue mission from the start."

Jim hovered nearby, unwilling to leave his first officer alone until he was absolutely certain Spock had medical clearance to resume his duties again. His eyes were red, the almost-tears a product of grief as much as anger. It had been too close, much too close, and this just a routine scouting mission. What would happen when they found themselves alone in empty space? Would they all come back from it alive and in one piece?

As chief medical officer, Leonard intended to ensure the answer was a vehement 'yes'. But he knew there would be other missions like this, more close calls than any man should have to face in a lifetime.

"The debrief said there was unusual geologic activity. I didn't know anything more than you until we got there." Jim very pointedly did not look at Spock, stoic and unfeeling as ever.

"No, but you were mighty quick to jump in, weren't you?"

"I didn't hear any objections. In fact, I remember you volunteering. Nice work, by the way. I couldn't have done it without you."

"You'll be lucky to keep your commission after this. The 'fleet will yank this ship out from under you."

Jim shook his head, "Let me worry about that."

"While I hesitate to agree with Dr. McCoy, I fear he may be correct."

Leonard heard the silent 'for once' tacked onto the end of that thought, but he bit his tongue and confined himself to a glare. What if his last words to Spock had been an insult? What if they had parted during one of their frequent arguments?

"Unbelievable, we agree on something. I think you should get your circuits checked." Then again, that was exactly what Spock expected of him and Leonard was loathe to disappoint.

The barb hit its mark, but Spock addressed Jim in his usual professional tone without even a withering glance. "I will take responsibility for this incident in my report."

"Let me do my job, Spock, just focus on doing yours."

A few seconds passed, a thoughtful silence between them. If they had been just a few seconds slower to arrive, if Scotty hadn't been the best damn engineer Starfleet had to offer and Jim hadn't been such a reckless bastard of a captain, he would even now be transcribing a report that would finish with 'unable to recover remains.'

Jim would never have forgiven himself, and the ship would never have been the same without her prickly, uptight first officer.

"I've repaired the cellular damage and a few contusions here and there. You're in good shape, Mr. Spock, all things considering."

Spock nodded, taking the news like it was his due. Leonard couldn't resist needling him just once more: "More's the pity."

"Bones." Jim murmured quietly, shooting him a reproachful look. He couldn't see the smug dimple on Spock's face that said he thought he had been the victor in this match, but Leonard was sure Uhura would wipe it off for him the minute he escaped the infirmary.

Leonard grinned triumphantly back, delighting in the confusion that carved a furrow between Spock's brows before he remembered himself enough to wipe it away. "He's fit for duty, captain."

"Then he's fit to take the rest of his shift off."

"Captain?" Every line of Spock's body radiated offense at the implication that he couldn't simply walk away from a near-death encounter and resume his duties. Leonard opened his mouth, caught Jim's challenging glance and just as quickly shut it. There was a such a thing as overdoing it, and in his worry Leonard had not been kind.

"Rest, Spock. You've done enough today. That's an order, if it helps." Jim glided out before Spock could voice an objection, not allowing himself the same leeway he offered his first officer.

They needed to have words about that as captain and CMO. This continuous pattern of reckless self-abuse in the name of duty would be the end of Jim one day unless he learned to care for himself. Len spared a moment to wonder if Jim's Designated shared the same trait or if, perhaps, she might help to temper it. He fervently prayed for the latter.

Speaking of tempers and Designations: "He's right, Spock, you should find Uhura. I'm sure she's anxious to see you."

Spock's eyes were still locked on the exit, willing Jim to step back in and admit he needed help this shift. When Jim did not immediately oblige him, he finally responded: "We spoke when I was transported aboard, doctor, she knows that I am well. I must speak with the captain."

Leonard rolled his eyes to the heavens as if he could find his lost patience there. "Take it from a human, Spock; knowing and _knowing_ are two very different things. She'll want to see you right away." Struck with wicked inspiration, he added the finishing touch: "Jim knows it or there's no way he would excuse you for the day. You know he relies on you."

Spock's head tilted as he considered that final parry. As Leonard expected, Vulcan arrogance won out.

"Of course, doctor." He nodded, pushing himself out of the bed and straightening his uniform in one efficient movement before marching out of medbay with new resolve in his stride.

It was no small victory that Leonard managed to stifle his laughter until the door had hissed shut behind his patient. He gave in, not sure if it was genuine amusement or the beginning of hysteria, probably a touch of both. He knew there would be hell to pay once they returned to San Fran, but for now everyone was safe and sound and that was worth celebrating. Caught up in his thoughts, he nearly missed the chime of the comm in his office- one that signified personal rather than professional business.

John. He knew it before he even stepped into the room, pausing in the doorway to consciously smooth away the worry lines he was certain the past few hours had etched on his face. John had an uncanny ability to read his thoughts, and Len had a vested interest in playing this incident close to his chest. At least until Jim's 'official' version of the report came out. He keyed in the acceptance code, throwing himself back into his chair and perching his boots nonchalantly on his desk. Lord knew he needed the rest.

"Misappropriating Starfleet equipment again?"

John didn't bother with any pretense of being contrite; his smile was small and secretive and entirely too satisfied for Leonard's liking. "In fact, doctor, I'm about official business."

"Oh?" Leonard tried to keep his tone casual but failed miserably. He had puzzled out early on that John worked in an experimental division, something to do with weapons research- rarely did medical dabble with development. Worse, he was still at least a day and a half from earth; what couldn't wait that long? "Is it an emergency?"

John mirrored Leonard's stance, leaning back in his chair and adjusting his coat to perfectly frame the breadth of his chest. Leonard was sure it was deliberate, nothing in John's mannerisms was ever anything less.

"No, not an emergency. I merely wanted to pick your brain on a small matter, and since your vessel is so late in returning…"

There was a question there; precisely the one Leonard didn't want to answer- not only because it would incriminate Jim but because he had the gut feeling John wouldn't take it well. There would be no easy way to explain that he had been chased by spear-wielding natives not too long before- while trying to prevent a volcanic extinction level event, no less.

"We're on our way home. Day and a half tops if Sulu and Scotty have anything to say about it."

"Unexpected complications?" John's tone suggested an invitation to share in amusement, but his eyes were bright and alert with concern.

"You could say that," Leonard hedged, "Nothing major." He added hastily when John shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Just lending a helping hand." He pasted on his most charming smile, "Speaking of, what can I help you with?" His clumsy evasion was certainly noted and filed away for later, but John at least did him the courtesy of dropping that line of inquiry.

"My recent work requires a certain amount of medical expertise, and with my partner off-planet I find myself entirely lacking."

_Partner_. Leonard warmed to the word immediately. "Lost without me?" He teased, trying to cover his pleased blush; if John's expression was anything to go by, he was not successful.

"Completely." John solemnly intoned. A shadow passed across his face, killing the warm smile of a moment before.

Leonard frowned, straightening up in his chair and switching easily into his professional persona. "What's wrong?"

They both knew he wasn't talking about John's research, but he could see his partner's internal debate scrawled in the tightening of his lips, the brief flare of his nostrils and the almost reptilian stare he fixed at a point somewhere above Leonard's eyes.

Silence fell, and for the first time it wasn't the intimate hush he so enjoyed. His breathing slowed, ears straining to catch whatever John had to say. Perversely he was relieved. All too often Leonard found himself confiding in John; everything from the little annoyances of working with Starfleet's finest to the nagging anxiety that still shadowed him some nights.

John was intimately acquainted with every memory, every nightmare, nearly every petty thought… there were only two secrets Len had ever felt the need to keep. Three if he counted his consternation at how easy this trust came to him after so many years of being on guard.

Sometimes he even found himself considering that fate had made a mistake: Leonard had always had a soulmate, and his name was John Harrison.

For all that, John had always been more reticent. Where Leonard's stories were peppered with his crew-mates and friends, only once had John ever mentioned a close friend. While John was quick to soothe him whenever he bolted awake, Leonard had found him prowling about the apartment a few times, restless and clearly distressed. A guilty conscience, he thought. Very few of Starfleet's finest last long in weapons development; it was antithetical to their mission, a subject of contention in all but the highest circles. John's interests tended more toward abstract strategy and medical science, aided by no less than Starfleet's finest surgeon.

John snorted, drawing him abruptly back into the present. "You are studying me like one of your specimens, Leonard."

That too had always been a touchy subject. Sometimes Leonard was tempted to bully Jim into acquiring John's file. Not that Jim would have taken much convincing to snoop.

Whatever the medical staff had done to him, it was plain John had little regard for doctors of any sort.

Well, present company excepted.

"Sorry, I'm just worried." Leonard offered, "You're tired-"

"I sleep better when you're here." His body language softened, familiar tenderness seeping back into his eyes. This was the look only Leonard McCoy was ever privileged enough to see, and he did his best not to take it for granted.

"But we are off-topic. I'm due at a conference in London shortly, and I find I am struggling with a colleague's proposal."

"Hm." Leonard banished his disappointment and refocused on the matter at hand. He would be home soon enough, then they could discuss the semantics of trust and partnership.

"He seems to be suggesting that one could entirely purge disease through transfusion with an uninfected host-"

"That's been around for awhile now."

"Yes, but what of a genetic disorder? A simple transfusion wouldn't suffice."

Leonard rocked back, folding his hands in his lap. "It might, in theory. You'd have to isolate the genes- and there are bound to be a few- but if you could, and if you used some sort of… DNA mock-up as a vehicle for correcting them, I see no reason it shouldn't work. What's the proposal say exactly? It's not my area, but it sounds like some hybrid of cDNA."

"Do you think a natural process could take over post-transfusion? No chance for a recurrence?"

"That's always a concern." Leonard conceded, "But I'm sure your colleague will address it. Why the sudden interest in genetics?" His gut felt hollow, the floor disappearing from under his feet. This new topic tread entirely too close to his first secret- the one he wouldn't breathe a word about until his death bed- if then. John wouldn't know that, though. He couldn't. The only other person that had even suspected was long since buried.

"The proposal caught my eye." John shrugged, a thoroughly inelegant gesture so at odds with his always-impeccable appearance Leonard always smiled to see it.

Not today. Something was off today; he almost had the feeling John was deliberately dodging his questions, keeping his question deliberately vague to avoid Leonard putting pieces together. He checked the encryption status of their connection, noting that John was using the most secure settings available.

He was probably hard at work then, buried in one of the labs Leonard didn't have access to. Which meant a very brief reminder wouldn't go amiss.

"The Federation banned most genetic research, you know that. Does your _colleague_?"

He read the complex interplay of emotions on John's face: guilt at being caught out, anger that anyone would dare, fleeting fear. Then stubborn determination; wherever this had come from, John was determined he would not be swayed.

"Remind your colleague the law is very clear on this kind of research. Don't get tangled up in it either." Leonard admonished gently. The language surrounding genetic research bans was deliberately broad and vague, even the innocent had occasionally found themselves entangled in it. He wouldn't say any more though; John was no fool, and Len was certain there was a method to his madness.

He intended to ferret out what it was as soon as he was home.

"I always err on the side of caution." John looked hurt that Leonard would ever question him. Whether he was more offended at the insult to his ethics or common sense Leonard wasn't certain, but he would have put credits on it being the latter.

"In any case, I'll be looking for your arrival soon. I take it you will have leave?"

"Maybe not." Leonard hedged. Probably not, after Jim's stunt. As one of Jim's chief enablers, Len was very certain his name would come up. There would be hell to pay, too.

"I hope you haven't been getting tangled up in anything?"

"I'm just the CMO here." Leonard spread his hands in the universal gesture of helplessness, exactly as he planned to do whenever anyone asked him what had happened on Nibiru for the next few months.

John smiled mirthlessly, promising exactly the kind of welcome home Leonard had been hoping for since the Enterprise left the dock. "You are not just anything, Leonard."

"As much as I'd love to argue that with you, I've still got a half hour on my shift. I should go before someone needs me. Someone other than you," he added playfully, spirits buoyed at the thought of how soon he could be home.

Whatever John was up to, he was a grown man and a Starfleet officer; he could look after himself for a day or two.

"Then I will let you go, under protest." John still seemed distracted and fatigued, but with the inconsistent and unpredictable shifts Research frequently had him working, Leonard chose to attribute it to his schedule more than anything else. It helped to quiet the nagging worry at the back of his mind.

"Noted. We'll make plans for Wednesday?"

"Wednesday." John agreed, the warmth of good humor slowly stealing back into his expression.

Leonard quickly signed off before he became distracted again. He had been eager to be home almost before the ship had left its dock, now there was new urgency to his thoughts. Nothing he could put his finger on exactly, but… since when had John ever dabbled in genetics? In the weapons research division no less. He didn't like the implications of that at all.

He chewed on that thought all the rest of his shift, letting it percolate even while he lingered over supper with Chekov, and on Delta shift when he found Spock in the observation deck, unceremoniously banished from Uhura's presence for his sins.

Rest did not come easy that night, but at least it was a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

John lingered over his work until well into the morning hours, so little left of his time now that Marcus had improved and implemented his designs.

Of course, there were several capsules he had appropriated for himself, destined for infinitely more precious cargo. Not missiles, but the cry-capsules that held his sleeping family. All of them carefully sequestered among the latest fruits of his labor, as yet unremarked.  
Marcus would find they were missing very soon; the decoys insufficient to hold up under close scrutiny. So far Marcus' complacency had worked to John's advantage though- as long as Marcus held his Designated's leash, he thought himself untouchable.

Marcus very nearly was, and therein lay the rub. John had jeopardized all his careful planning during his recent conversation with Leonard. What was it about the man that he couldn't help but confide his secrets? Especially the ones he could not afford to. Self-sabotage was not a level he had fallen to before. For months he had kept Leonard in the dark, careful to keep his two identities as separate as he could.

There had been no question in his mind for Leonard, not really. His latest project had been in the works almost as long as his last and Leonard had only assisted a time or two- and then very obliquely. It seemed some fragment of his conscience didn't care for deceiving his Designated, to the point of self-destructiveness even. Leonard would be watching now, after his appeal.

Increasingly often, Khan had to willfully ignore that small part of himself he had carved out for John Harrison- the traitorous little pocket that half-hoped Leonard would convince him not to take this final, irrevocable step. The complacent shadow of himself that would have enjoyed his work were it not for Marcus' threats.

It was a constant siren's call that he only just resisted, made that much more difficult every time Leonard curved into him, fitting them together like puzzle pieces, every time John stepped into the living room and found his Designated, his gift, resting comfortably on the couch and beckoning him to join. Or when they bantered and played, nothing more pressing than making time for each other with their increasingly busy schedules.

Leonard was content, and John could not help but respond to it.

The nights when he woke from nightmares of his crew or when the guilt of his own good fortune kept him from sleeping were becoming fewer and farther between. Complacency was his most persistent foe.

John tilted the vial in his hand, watching the viscous fluid raptly. He had always been a man of his word, as admiral Marcus would soon learn. With so few openings to exploit, John had turned his attention to Thomas Harewood- veteran Section 31 operative, current researcher operating out of London branch.

Thomas loved his daughter, enough that he still reported to his station each day, clearing his official duties from his desk so that he could focus on his pet project.

The project itself flirted with illegality, treading the finest of spider-silk thin lines. Since he had proven himself so amenable to risk, it was to him that John offered his poisoned fruit. Above all else, though, he would be certain Harewood's sacrifice was not entirely in vain. One service in exchange for another.

And because Leonard's arrival had been delayed, because John wanted to see him one last time, he would delay his plan- shift it to accommodate a final week before he irreparably changed the territory between he and his beloved. John was selfish, Khan was ambitious, a volatile combination he strove to keep in balance, allowed this last time in honor of John Harrison's fast-approaching "death".

Satisfied that his work was finished, John scrupulously cleaned and put away his supplies.

All save the small vial and its secret.

 

 

 

John instinctively moved quieter through the halls of the pediatrics wing, careful not to disturb any patients' rest. He passed hollow-eyed parents, occasionally a child up and walking about, stretching muscles that resisted activity. He stepped carefully near them, always remembering the soft look on Leonard's face whenever Jocelyn commed to show off her infant daughter.

He understood well enough. Children had been a rarity among augments, the same enhancements that supposedly placed them above their non augmented kin making it difficult to conceive or carry children. As such those few they had were fiercely guarded until the final days of the war.

After… he was certain there had been precious little mercy to spare; the sins of the fathers often fell to the children to repay.

That was a wrong he could not redress; his time was better spent dwelling on the practical matters ahead.

In six hours John was due back in San Francisco. Meaning he had just over two hours to convince Harewood of the sincerity of his offer before boarding the transport back. They had developed a rapport these past weeks, each united toward a single cause though only one of them realized it.

John was certain Harewood was desperate enough now that he wouldn't require too much convincing. He was prepared to grapple with misplaced loyalty, but Section 31 agents understood how quickly that could shift. He was prepared too for Harewood's desperation- convincing him to leave behind his Designated and a recently cured daughter would likely prove the greatest obstacle.

Time was on his side. The same inexorable march that took John closer to fulfilling his threat to Marcus was depriving Thomas of his only child. They both stood to gain from the arrangement.

What he had not been prepared for, what he should have _expected_ after living so long with too compassionate, too gentle Leonard McCoy, was the stab of pity when he first stepped into Harewood's room.

Thomas sat alone at the girl's bedside, bone-deep weariness apparent in every line of his body. He was deaf to the constant beeping and whirring of machines, but winced whenever his daughter drew a too-labored breath. John knew what the doctors must have told him that morning: not long, any day now.

Lucille herself had grown piteously frail, an entirely different person from the bright, happy child that peered out of Thomas' holos. There was hardly any spark of life left in her now; a pall of hopelessness settled over the scene.

Nevertheless, when John spoke his voice fairly resonated with confidence: "I can save her."

Harewood was slow to respond, uncurling from a protective crouch over the pillow. His expression mirrored his confusion, but John heard his breath catch before he finally managed a strangled "What did you say?"

Success was only a matter of the formalities. He had not misjudged his target. "Your daughter. I can save her."

"How?"

John chose not to answer the question directly. "She could be well on the road to recovery before I leave the room, but I require something of you in exchange."

Harewood's face was stony, a new suspicion kindling in his eyes. He swallowed, glancing tellingly at the door. John nudged it close, moving the lock into place. These next moments were crucial. If Rima were to walk in, if he saw her, the battle might be lost.

"How, Harrison?" Thomas repeated, firmer this time. His hand rubbed a comforting rhythm against the sheets, gaze flicking to his daughter's gaunt face once more.

John produced the vial, the liquid that could only be blood sloshing in it. Harewood was no fool- John could see him jumping to all the right conclusions in the space of a few seconds, but he answered anyway.

"If you agree to my terms, I will leave this in your care. Your daughter would be well again, Mr. Harewood."

"Her doctors say we probably have less than a week." Harewood protested, his eyes never leaving what John offered.

If he turned away now, threatening to take life with him, the man would follow, but he would sacrifice whatever sympathetic advantage he stood to gain in presenting himself as a savior rather than a mercenary. He stayed, and let the silence do the work for him.

"What do you want?"

"I have a very particular message for admiral Marcus I expect you to deliver in a week's time. I am sure you know me well enough to realize that I will either _collect_ or withdraw my offer."

He proffered the vial delicately, holding it between them in mute suggestion.

Ten seconds. Twenty.

Harewood reached out, "What is it?"

 

* * *

 

 

Leonard threw himself lengthwise across the couch, burying his face in the plush pillow and breathing in the familiar scent of home. The sun warmed his skin quickly, so different from the pervasive chill of space even the Enterprise temp controls could never quite keep up with.

He languished there for at least an hour, drifting in and out of sleep. He wanted to be fully awake by the time John got home, whenever that would be. Jim, ever the impossible ball of energy, had tried pestering him into yet another night out but all Leonard wanted was to wrap himself and John and bedsheets and call it a night.

It was a testament to his fatigue that he really wasn't sure which of those sounded more appetizing. Until the door hissed open and his mind was made up: John. Definitely John.

Struck by a mischievous impulse, he didn't immediately stand up, keeping his breathing shallow and quiet, valiantly ignoring the itch of his nose that had chosen just that second to make itself known.

He heard the shuffling of John's jacket as he peeled it off, slipping out of his shoes and pushing them onto the mat. Familiar sounds he hadn't thought he would miss so much. The tap turned, water splashing into a glass that John downed with little ceremony, sighing as though he had just lifted the weight of the world from his chest.

Leonard finally sat up, "That was a mighty sigh. Another busy day?"

At least, that's what he meant to say. By the time he sat up, John had already heard the sound of his movement and crossed the room to him, silencing Leonard before he could get more than a word out with a demanding kiss.

He would have laughed, but John's hands were gliding down his back to pull him closer, teeth nipping at Leonard's lips to pry them open, leisurely exploring Leonard's mouth with his own.

As welcomes went, it was one of the more enthusiastic ones he had ever received. When John pulled back slightly to catch a breath he tried to disengage, but John followed, pressing kisses to his lips, cheeks, chin.

"Glad to see me?" He smiled, twining a hand in John's shirt to pull him over the edge of the couch. John eagerly followed, tumbling dexterously over the edge to drape himself over Leonard with an almost feline air of contentment.

"More than you know." John growled, sending a little thrill straight to Leonard's gut. Impossibly, he blushed, feeling the first ache of interest at no more than a handful of words. God, he was easy. Too easy. They had so much to talk about, but _a real bed_ and _John_. Ever an advocate of dessert before supper, Leonard decided to file their conversation under 'pillow talk'.

They laid there a few minutes longer, John's hands braced on either side of his shoulders to pin him while Leonard rocked into the bulge of his pants, delighting in the sound of their unsteady breathing and the creak of the couch springs.

It wasn't until Leonard realized he'd been unconsciously toying with the clasp of John's belt while his lover fingered the button of his pants that he decided the bedroom was the better part of valor.

"Couch is too small," Leonard griped, "Bed?"

Ever a man of action, John rolled off the couch and lifted Leonard with him as he gained his feet. The man was simply too strong for Leonard's good- he would have been lying if he ever claimed it didn't give him a bit of a thrill, the way John could throw his weight around like it was nothing.

Normally John was careful with him, always handling him like he might break at a touch until Leonard finally coaxed him past caring well into the night.

Any trace of hesitancy was gone this evening; Leonard laughed aloud when John practically dragged him into the hallway, pausing on the threshold of their room to push Len into the wall. Thank goodness his uniform was designed to be shed quickly in a pinch because John wasted no time stripping it off him and tossing it carelessly to the floor.

Later they would have time for gentle touches and lingering glances- right then they both agreed that clothes were a damned nuisance. Engrossed in the task of figuring out the clasp of John's newest belt— and why did he have to choose it on this day of all days?— Leonard didn't notice that John's touch had gentled, centering in on the dark bruise under Leonard's rib to examine it with clinical interest.

"Nothing major?"

"Huh?" Leonard blinked, reluctantly refocusing his attention. He glanced down, managing no more than an inarticulate "Oh."

John's stormy gray eyes fixed him with an accusing stare, one Leonard had never felt actually fixed on him before. It made him a little weak in the knees, enough that he leaned back to let the door support him, though whether it was the sudden flare of arousal or an instinctive flash of fear, he wasn't sure. Either way, John wouldn't hurt him, so what was the harm in enjoying?

"What happened?" John's fingers skimmed the bruise, pressing and prodding at the edges until Leonard winced. Immediately he stopped, worry replacing anger.

"I bruise easily, and it turns out I'm not great with alien animals. One tried to take a chunk out of me while I was climbing up. Nothing too bad, so I thought I'd let it heal naturally." He had however, carefully smoothed away the cuts left from the unforgiving branches of trees as he and Jim had bolted and some of the smaller bruises on his shins, evidence of not leaping high enough over outstretched roots.

Some questions he just hadn't felt like answering. Particularly when the answer began with stealing a holy relic and ended with a Jim getting trigger-happy and making them hoof it back to the ship. So he smiled disarmingly, letting John search his face to see the truth there.

"I'm fine, just not meant to be a beast-tamer."

And John was kissing him again, almost violently. His arms wrapped about Leonard's hips to pull him close, slanting his mouth against Leonard's and coaxing him to open his lips to the invasion. John was stealing his breath, giving Leonard only what air he needed to keep from fainting until the world spun from more than just pleasure. John nipped when Leonard tried to return the kiss with equal fervor, leaving a pleasant sting on his tongue even as he abraded Leonard's quickly swelling lips.

For most of Leonard's life kissing had been a simple gesture, offering reassurance and affection when words were not enough, an extra spark or connection during sex. John elevated it to an art in and of itself; now Leonard was certain John hadn't been bluffing in the slightest when he had claimed that one day he would make Leonard come from a kiss alone. Hell, it probably wouldn't take long- he was a tactile man, and every second of John's kisses were designed to overwhelm his senses.

Today was not the day for it. After two weeks in a bed of his own, he was horribly impatient and not in any kind of mood for prolonged foreplay. He pushed at John's bare chest, squirming to make his point.

John didn't let him go, not for a second, but seeing as they somehow made it from the doorway to the bed, who was he to complain? Mission accomplished.

From the living room he heard his comm chime, but after just figuring out the catch to John's belt, and finally at liberty to get it off he wasn't about to answer.

John laughed, a huff of air against the sensitive hollow of Leonard's throat that set his hair to prickling with awareness.

"What? You think I should answer it?"

Len grinned, fully anticipating the response, but as always John caught him off guard: "An exhibitionist streak, Leonard? How intriguing." His last word cut off with a gasp when Leonard pushed his pants the rest of the way from his hips, taking John in hand to stroke the length of him too gently.

"Careful, I'm a jealous man." He purred, tightening his grip until it was only just enough friction when John bucked into him.

"Likewise." John caught his free hand to press another kiss to his palm, working his way down Leonard's wrist to his Designation once more. It had become a ritual between them; John never missed a chance to trace the name there with his tongue, nip and suck the skin raw as though he could wipe the flesh clean as a slate.

Every time Leonard found his guilt lessening a little more, until he no longer flinched or turned away from John's arresting gaze. There was a sinful little thrill in it, a false taste of infidelity that only heated his blood now.

Impossibly John hardened even more, thrusting wantonly into Leonard's fist and against his lower stomach until he felt the warmth of pre-cum pooling on his skin. Neither one of them had the patience for their usual games today, it seemed.

Reluctantly, Leonard wriggled away for all of a second, chuckling breathlessly at John's mock growl only to cry out when sharp teeth took advantage of his distraction to clamp around a tendon in his neck, his lover's warm tongue allaying the pain just as quickly. John never could resist the urge to leave a mark of his own; Leonard never really had the inclination to stop him either.

He released John and rolled, reaching for the bedside table. Once they had kept their lube in the bathroom, a pretense of respectability, he supposed, and one that had proved damnably inconvenient. Somehow it had migrated to the bedside table after his first weekend here and neither one of them had seen a reason to put it back.

John let him roll, one broad hand settling in the small of his back to push him down farther, coaxing Leonard into arching wantonly against the sheets. The other hand kneaded his ass possessively, muscles tensing and jumping beneath the firm grip. Distracted, Leonard paused just to bask in the sensation of callouses against sensitive skin, lube temporarily forgotten.

Not for long. He yelped when John leaned down to nip the curve of his ass, hurriedly fumbling with the tube and trying to turn back.

John wouldn't move, still pressing him down. They locked gazes, Leonard's desperate and questioning, John's mischievous.

Leonard didn't trust that look.

All his suspicions were proven true when John carefully teased his cheeks apart, ignoring Leonard's shocked gasp to press his tongue to the furled opening between.

"John-" Leonard gasped out, unconsciously twisting against the sheets as his skin heated with shame… and arousal. John paused, studying his expression for what felt like hours. Whatever he read there, he stopped to take the lube from Leonard's trembling fingers.

Leonard swallowed tightly, nearly jumping out of his skin at the first cool dollop, his breathing grown ragged watching the way John carefully prepared him, unheeding of Leonard's muted protest. He wasn't fragile, and after so long together he hardly needed such care, but John reveled in it as he did everything else and Len was helpless to protest.

He tried to turn back, tried to eel his way back to the center of the bed, but John would have none of it, pressing a wet kiss to his spine and murmuring a soft denial into the skin there. He pushed two fingers roughly in, sheathing them deeply when Leonard drew a ragged breath. He released it on a moan, dropping his head down to muffle his panting.

"I missed you." John whispered, one hand clamping about the back of Leonard's neck to turn his face away, the admission somehow too intimate to allow Leonard to see his face. Mere words were too intimate, even after all the nights he had practically bared his soul in just this way.

"I missed you too." Leonard sighed, no less heartfelt but so much easier for him to confess.

It was maddening. John twisted his fingers while forcing them deeper, gasping at the keening sound Leonard made. Much as he wanted to linger, take his time relearning every plane of Leonard's body, he couldn't. Leonard had been gone too long, had been injured- likely more than he was letting on.

The first thing John did once he returned to Marcus' lair would be laying his hands on the reports to find out who was responsible. Leonard could be thoughtless, and too brave by half, but seldom was he reckless enough to risk himself or his crew-mates.

Leonard rocked back on his fingers, moving as much as he was able with John's hand still pressed into his back. John nearly let him turn, let him wrap those firm legs about his waist and comb healing hands through his unruly hair. Tonight, though, he couldn't bear to let his Designated see him so raw and defenseless. The day had taken its toll, and Leonard was too attuned to his moods not to see it.

He was rougher than usual when he pushed in- careful not to hurt but desperate to forge a connection between them, to take some of Leonard's warmth back into himself and thaw the ice gathering in his soul. They had so little time left, so few nights like this. There was a ray of hope in that: Soon Leonard would know him in his entirety; there would be no need for deception or secrets between them and Leonard would be forced to recognize for who and what he was.

Beneath him Leonard scrabbled with the blankets, clearly frustrated with so little autonomy to touch. Leonard was always giving, too generous with every aspect of himself. Tonight he tried reversing their roles, but he had ever been a greedy starveling.

He caught Leonard's hand, pinning it to the bed when he caught him trying to bring himself off, laughing mirthlessly as he rocked harder into him, enough to push Leonard into rutting against the bed sheets like the desperate man he was. So often they laughed and bantered, teased each other even as they worked toward their climax. It was refreshing to see Leonard reduced to breathless pleas and slurred words, a thrill to know he could reduce his beloved to this.

Leonard did not know it, not the whole of it, but he held John's life in his hands and kept what was left of his heart in safekeeping. It was terrifying and humbling to know how little power or protection he had against this man, and how oblivious his Designated, his soulmate was to it.

"I love you."

John froze, shuddering with a wave of lust and warmth and fierce joy. He felt the sudden realization in Leonard's tenseness, the way his breath caught and all movement ceased. Shock and panic painted his face when he turned his head to the side, one eye peering up in disbelief and panic.

"I mean-" Leonard hastily tried to correct himself, tried to lie, but John leaned down to steal the words with a crooked, awkward kiss. Leonard's heart was beating fit to burst, his breath stuttering as he tried to draw another breath. John kissed him until he responded, not willing to let him take the words back.

He hadn't thought it was something he would ever be able to say, too trite and overused, too unlike him, but nevertheless something Leonard needed to hear. Now that the moment was upon him, he found the only reason to hesitate was that the words didn't seem quite enough.

"I love you more than you know, Leonard McCoy." For now.

Leonard's relief was instantaneous, every muscle in his body turning to jelly so that his arms gave out and he tumbled easily back onto the bed. John didn't give him a chance to regret, didn't allow him the opportunity to complicate matters, he buried himself deep, pushing a hand beneath Leonard to stroke firmly up his length. Already overwhelmed with sensation and adrenaline, Leonard came and John followed, careful not to crush his lover, despite wanting nothing more than to bury himself in Leonard and twine around him so completely there was no telling where one ended and the other began.

And because the words still hadn't been enough, he whispered foreign endearments into Leonard's skin as they dozed contentedly- words in a language Leonard could not know. "You of all people are safe from me, remember that. You will _never_ come to harm." It was as much a promise to himself as the man in his arms.

Exhausted, Leonard barely mustered the energy to hum a question before sleep took him. John spoke to him still, more promises falling from his lips like prayers, too intimate for him to utter except here and now with their dream slowly crumbling to his machinations.

 

 

John whispered a final word against his pulse, one the world had not heard in so long time itself stopped to listen: _Eidolon_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know I'm awful because it was all supposed to fall apart this chapter, but then this chapter grew to 7300 words and that's hard reading, so here we are again.
> 
> I mean, it was that or cut out the feelings and sex so I think I made the right call? Anyway, I'm hoping to have the next chapter either tomorrow or next week. If I don't finish it tomorrow, it just has to wait until Monday because I am overwhelmed with work. :(
> 
> Quick note that if you don't know what 'Eidolon' means, it's probably because it hasn't been in common usage for a century and a half now, and you might want to save the reveal for a future chapter instead of looking it up. If you _do_ then at least it's not really a spoiler? ^.^
> 
> Also, if anyone wants to critique my smut _please_ do! I'd love to know what is/isn't working.
> 
> Chapter title was originally inspired by "Dark Night of the Soul" that Loreena McKennitt turned into a lovely song, though I did find a poem of a similar name by Fiona Burgess on Poemhunter.


	12. The World Ends in Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go!
> 
> The AU tag really starts to kick into effect here timeline wise.

"London, huh?" Leonard stretched languorously, offering John a suggestive grin when he saw how those eyes lingered on his chest and arms.

John hesitated but somehow wrenched his attention back to the task at hand, neatly folding shirts and pants into his luggage. "Only for a day or so."

"That's a lot of clothes for one day." Leonard countered, trying not to sound so distraught. He had been thoroughly spoiled over the past few days: relaxed meals and entire days spent in his lover's company, more sweet words than he knew what to do with… more sex than any mortal man could ever want. Leonard was beginning to suspect he might be a hedonist, but John was nothing if not encouraging so at least he was in like-minded company.

"I may be longer. Not by much, I hope." He smiled, and improbably, Leonard found he was not so exhausted as he had first thought.

Stubbornly he forced his attention back to the present. In nearly a week he still hadn't found the time to talk with John regarding whatever infernal research he was digging into. His gut told him this trip to London was somehow connected. He should have been relieved; John would be joining some of the finest minds Starfleet had to offer at the London branch, and that had to mean he had approval for whatever he was doing. It had to mean that he had even been funded or assisted in some way by the research branch.

Leonard still couldn't shake the feeling that his timely comm had been a plea for help- and not of the academic variety.

"Does this have something to do with your research?" He sat up, and John abandoned any pretense of paying attention to packing in favor of watching his abs ripple. When John began a steady slink toward the edge of the bed, Leonard hurriedly yanked the sheet over himself. That was exactly how he had been distracted the last half-dozen times or so he had brought this up and dammit it wasn't going to happen again!

He scowled when John tugged playfully at the edge of the sheet, balling it in his fist as a mute but very obvious threat. Leonard clenched his own fist in the fabric and refused to budge. "Well?"

"Yes." John conceded lightly, pulling the sheet to test Leonard's grip. It held strong.

"Then you don't need my help? You're sure?"

"Absolutely." John seemed disinclined to anything more than monosyllabic answers. Much as it vexed Leonard, he was vaguely amused. Mischief was something that had been missing between them these past few nights, and he regretted its loss.

"Then the legalities are taken care of?" A non-committal hum. Leonard clenched his fist tighter, preparing for the inevitable assault. He was surprised but not disappointed when John decided against overt theft and swarmed up the bed instead, pressing his hands beneath the protective covering of the blanket since he couldn't take it outright. Leonard squirmed and bucked, laughing despite himself; foolishly he let his hand slip from the blanket and John did not give him even a second to reclaim it, leaving him naked to the soft fabric of John's clothes.

There was something undeniably tempting about being naked to John's sweeping glance even as his partner remained fully clothed. He had just opened his mouth to suggest John at least unzip those sinfully tight pants when the comm chimed. Again.

Leonard groaned with feeling, rolling his eyes in surrender. "I should get that. Jim had a meeting with Pike today and if I had to bet credits on it, I'd say he lost his captain's chair."

"A tragedy, I'm sure." John's hand was creeping up his hip, lingering at the crease there where he knew Leonard was sensitive.

He considered giving in, but he had been neatly dodging the Enterprise crew for almost a week, and after being friends so long, Leonard couldn't find it in himself to disregard Jim when he was in a rough patch. Reluctantly, he pushed at John's shoulders, turning his face away to avoid a kiss. "He might need me. I should go."

John sighed, but he shifted his weight enough to allow Leonard to eel out of bed. If he watched Len's ass as he sauntered out of the room, the object of his attentions certainly didn't begrudge him.

 

 

 

On the long list of ways Leonard had expected to spend his night, crashing in yet another dive bar with Jim had not even ranked among the top fifty. Yet there he found himself, at Jim's right hand while his friend made moon-eyes at a young lady across the bar. Not feeling at all charitable, he threw the lowest blow he could think of on the spot:

"You said this whole tribunal was headed by admiral Marcus. D'you suppose he's any relation?" Leonard gestured to Jim's wrist, only flinching a little at Jim's wounded look- cruel to be kind.

"That would be too convenient. I told you this streak of good luck wasn't going to last."

"Hm. We had a hand in that." They toasted, downing a stiff shot before simultaneously tipping a signal to the bartender. "You'll get her back, Jim. The sooner you fall into step the sooner they'll clear this up."

"I'm going back to the academy, Bones." Jim snapped, not comforted in the least. "Those kind of demotions didn't even exist until this morning."

"James T. Kirk, everyone. Boldly going-" He choked when Jim elbowed him sharply in the ribs. It startled a laugh out of him, at least, and Jim managed a quirk of the lips that looked a little less sickly.

"Don't pretend you wouldn't do the same thing all over again. Just be sure to let Spock in on the secret next time. You know Vulcans can't lie worth a damn." He sighed, "I thought maybe Uhura could change that, but she finds his honesty refreshing."

"I find it real damn annoying."

"You 'n me both."

They sat in companionable silence for awhile longer, drinks half-forgotten in their hands. Spock… much as Leonard hated to admit it, he would miss the pointy-eared bastard. Not that the sentiment was at all returned, he was sure. Even Uhura was probably getting a double helping of his cold shoulder- Spock's usual coping mechanism for bad news. Jim though, Spock was a good influence, and Leonard prided himself on always providing reliable advice. Without either of them, what kind of hot water was Jim going to land himself in?

"Listen, Jim, just keep your head down and work hard. This'll sort itself out if you don't deliberately screw yourself over."

"Sound advice, doctor." Came a dry voice just above him. Leonard vaulted off the stool so fast it nearly fell over.

"Captain Pike."

"Don't salute, McCoy." Just as well the order was official. Loyal to the bone, Leonard hadn't yet decided if he was going to. The warm light in Pike's eyes said he had recognized the rebellious thought in Len's gaze; the half-proud quirk of his lips said he was glad Jim had such a friend, but wouldn't let that stop him from making his CMO's life hell for the blatant disrespect.

Good to have that clear between them. Short of their time in sickbay following the Narada incident Leonard hadn't really met the man, but Jim thought the world of him, and that was enough in Leonard's books.

Bearing that in mind, he tried not to give Pike a narrow-eyed glare when the man promptly hung his cane on the bar and settled on Leonard's former stool. It was a clear signal that his presence was no longer needed or wanted, and if Jim's annoyed glare was anything to go by, Pike wouldn't get off easy for it either. So he quietly excused himself, after snapping up his glass and downing the remainder of his drink. He tipped Jim a mocking salute as he strode out, mouthing a "captain" that set Jim to smiling again.

Jim Kirk could be a cocky bastard, but he had it in him to be one of the greatest captains Starfleet had ever seen or Leonard's name wasn't McCoy. They wouldn't let talent like that waste away in the academy for even another semester. Especially not if Christopher Pike had anything to say about it.

Judging by the conspiratorial air that had surrounded them as Leonard made his way out, he was sure Pike had plenty to say about it.

 

 

 

Once Leonard had been a nighttime wanderer, a veteran insomniac that knew his constellations mostly because he was more likely to see them than sunlight. Now that he spent so much time in space, the warmth of natural light was infinitely more precious and he made it a point to bask in it whenever possible. Especially with Jim anticipating a five-year mission.

Five years in that emptiness. Leonard glanced up at the blackness between stars, shuddering slightly. His phobia of space had diminished after constant exposure, but he still preferred glancing up rather than out at it.

Walking home, he cast back over the years. That first shuttle flight to the academy with Jim his captive audience, too many late nights to count at the academy either bar-crawling or barely surviving his shifts in the infirmary. Despite Jim's suggestion, he still didn't regret choosing his path. Even considering he hadn't needed to go so far as the stars to find his soulmate.

Leonard picked up the pace, suddenly aware of the cool air cutting right through him. He was eager to be home, eager to pick up where he and John had left off earlier in the evening. He had only just come back and already John was leaving for a few days, which meant a few more nights of restless, interrupted sleep. Best to take advantage of the warmth and companionship while he still could then.

He knew the minute he stepped through the door John wasn't home. Had he left already?

No. His bag was still by the table in the living room, its presence enough to confirm this was only a short outing. Leonard made his way to the couch with every intention of waiting up; late as it was, John should be sailing through the door any second, but exhaustion had taken its toll, and no sooner had he made himself comfortable than Leonard drifted off, dead to the world.

 

 

* * *

 

"Harrison."

Marcus' tone was less a superior to his subordinate and more a master to his hound. Behind his impassive features, John imagined the moment Marcus received the news of the Kelvin disaster. Would he share that private message with his colleagues? No. He would never showcase his failure so spectacularly, not while the evidence of it went up in flames like the feeble identity he had crafted for Khan Noonien Singh.

John did not waste his time with insincere pleasantries. Marcus knew better than to believe anything that came out of John's mouth, and this close to his goal, he had no patience left to spare.

"When I attempted to access the survey results from the Enterprise's recent survey mission, my credentials were returned as insufficient."

They might have moved past the false camaraderie so often projected in front of his colleagues, but Marcus would have his petty games. It amused him to have a once great man humble himself enough to beg a favor. Not that the survey mission had been important, at least until Leonard firmly refused to give up his secrets. He was stubbornly tight-lipped about the whole affair, though he and Kirk had been speaking more often of late. Even he and Mr. Spock, normally as close as cats and dogs, had commed each other a time or two.

"I can't see any reason a researcher would need those records." Marcus snorted, but his smirk said he was open to convincing if the request was suitably abject. It would have been child's play to crack the security encryption and download the files to his PADD, but then John wouldn't have had the pleasure of seeing Marcus face-to-face one last time so that he could have one more victory when Marcus never sensed the coming betrayal.

"Not as a researcher. As his Designated."

"McCoy." Marcus sobered, "The reports make it sound like an adventure. I was just at a tribunal a few hours ago…" He trailed off, a calculated move. "But I thought you made a choice, John. I told you he was all yours if you just cooperated with me, only to find you moving your crew under my nose. Was I wrong, _John_?"

"In my brief time here I have done more to further your aim than any other operative." John spat, "Why should you require any hostages?"

Marcus' tone rang with contempt, "Any hostages other than McCoy, you mean." He tilted his PADD back, and despite himself John's gut clenched to see Leonard's ID reflected back at him. As though Marcus had needed any reminder; within hours of discovering their connection he had personally acquainted himself with every facet of the Enterprise's CMO.

"Except McCoy." John conceded, murder reflected in his basilisk stare. He had never been in the habit of punishing innocents, even in more violent times, but the thought of strangling Carol Marcus with his bare hands and leaving her corpse a gift for her father grew more attractive each time this man dangled his Designated in front of him like the carrot before the whip.

It was just as well Marcus' own Designated was long since in the ground, victim of a Klingon raid on a Federation research outpost. The temptation might have proven too much otherwise. If Designated pairs were meant to be two halves of a whole, why should both not suffer for the sins of one?

Marcus was the first to break eye contact, satisfaction radiating from every pore. "I'll send the master report to your terminal. It's an interesting read."

John barely suppressed a sigh. Pride was Marcus' besetting sin, and his chief accomplishment lay in empowering Section 31's intelligence gathering efforts; as such, he never missed an opportunity to obliquely brag of matters others had little knowledge of.

In the beginning, that had included releasing McCoy's private records into John's keeping. Records far more detailed now that he was considered a vital asset to Marcus' network- a vital hostage in a war he wasn't even aware of. Perhaps it had been a mistake, seeking Leonard out so early in his time here, but John was determined that he would be safe.

It was truly unfortunate that he would have to trust Kirk with that duty for any length of time if Marcus' insinuations were anything to go by.

 

 

 

By the time he crept back into the apartment, PADD in hand, Leonard was already sleeping. His sensitive ears could hear the beginnings of soft snores, the utter lack of movement that said Len was in a deep sleep.

Just as well. John had not yet finished the compiled master report, but he already had several pressing questions. Beginning with what captain Kirk had been thinking to not only abandon his ship, but take his CMO and first officer with him. It was recklessness in the highest degree, not to mention a tactical disadvantage in the event of a surprise attack.

Leonard seemed to almost worship Kirk, the source of a nagging sense of jealousy if John was honest, but this?

Had he believed in a higher power, John would have thanked it for preserving Leonard's life in the face of impossible odds. But then, Kirk's unpredictability would soon work in his favor. With no choice but to leave his Designated on earth while he pursued his vengeance, John could think of no one more suited to the role of caretaker.

Kirk's blatant disregard for authority ensured he would not mindlessly comply with any order from Marcus that jeopardized Leonard's safety. The years of friendship between them meant Kirk's loyalty would run strong.

Leonard would be safe. At least until John could collect him.

"Shit!"

John started from his seat, crossing the room in a few ground-eating strides and bolting down the hallway. He pushed his way into the bedroom to find Leonard curled into his pillow, already working his way through a breathing exercise meant to calm his obviously frayed nerves. Leonard's profile mentioned these fits had been frequent once, following his experience aboard the Narada.

John had never had the misfortune of witnessing an attack himself until now.

"Leonard?"

He didn't respond immediately, screwing his eyes shut to banish whatever images still lingered. When they fluttered open again, he met John's gaze a little sheepishly, nervousness in the false curve of his lip. "You're home late."

He glanced at the bedside clock. "Or early, I guess." A raspy chuckle, still shaky.

"Nightmare?" John didn't let Leonard hide anything for long, least of all his fears.

"Memory, I think." He shook his head, "I confuse the two sometimes."

The words were spoken casually, but his eyes told a different, more tragic truth.

"I'm alright now." He pushed himself to his feet, absentmindedly tugging up his pajama bottoms- the ones he only ever wore when he was certain he was going to bed alone.

John followed as he picked his way out of the room, bumping into the door jamb in an uncharacteristic display of clumsiness. He made straight for the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water and hurriedly downing it under John's watchful eye.

Seeing him there, Leonard grimaced, "It's late. Go to bed."

"Anything you care to discuss?"

"No." Leonard shot back stubbornly, splashing a little of the cool water on his face. John tried not to be distracted by the droplets that made their way down the curve of his throat, small gleams in the darkness.

John sighed, pouring impatience and concern into the sound. Leonard's first instinct was to comfort, even- and especially- when he had caused the distress. Once again his strategy paid off. Leonard glared balefully at him, recognizing that he was being manipulated but unable to do anything against it.

"It's been awhile since you lost sleep over a dream." John prodded, ever so careful.

"Why the hell are you so nosy?" The complaint had a fond ring to it, but John heard the ragged edge in his voice and put more distance between them. Push and Leonard would only dig his heels in and push back.

The silence didn't last long. "I think it was the survey."

John stepped aside, gesturing Leonard out of the kitchen and following him down the hall to their bedroom.

"It nearly went to hell in a hand basket."

Nearly? John didn't voice the question aloud, but a pre-warp species seeing a starship was exactly what the prime directive was meant to protect against. The echoes of this encounter would be felt for generations to come.

"I understand you interfered in a species' development-"

"We prevented a _genocide._ "

"There is nothing coordinated or systematic in a natural catastrophe, Leonard."

He meant the words to be a comfort, but Leonard twitched violently, slanting him a dangerously stubborn look over his shoulder.

"Something about standing back and watching while a whole planet and its sentient, thriving people are destroyed smacks of 'coordinated and systematic' to me. " He snorted, "'Interfered'. We interfered when Vulcan was destroyed too."

They slipped into bed together, Leonard still plainly vexed with him and ruffled from his nightmare, whatever it had been. John shrugging out of his clothes as quickly as he could, already craving the closeness of his Designated. This would be their last night together like this, and selfishly he wanted as much as Leonard was willing to give.

Despite every effort, Leonard wouldn't speak of it again. Not his dream, not their mission.

For the first time, it was hours before either of them could find sleep again.

 

 

John woke early the next morning to find that somehow Leonard had managed not only to eel out his arms without waking him, but also to creep into the kitchen and begin making breakfast. It startled him, how soft and complacent he was becoming that he could have been so unaware.

Not for much longer. Excitement sang in every thought, adrenaline already peaking in his system. Mere hours and his gambit would begin, which made him all the more determined to savor what little time he had left.

He slipped out of the bed, shrugging into a robe not out of some misplaced sense of modesty but because he knew Leonard enjoyed slipping him out of them. This wouldn't be the last time they saw each other, wouldn't be the last time they ate together or made love.

It was, however, the last morning he could ever pretend to be someone so uncomplicated as John Harrison, and he was sure it would no easy thing to win back his place in Leonard's good graces.

"Morning." He hadn't made any sound as he entered the kitchen, but somehow Leonard always knew he was there. John wondered if it was an extension of the empathetic bond they shared or whether Leonard had honed his talents after so long looking after a crew that was always in some manner of trouble.

"I thought we'd have breakfast since you're leaving so soon." Leonard rambled, throwing a little too much pepper on his eggs as usual. "Which is a shame, because I have the day all to myself."

The playful smile he threw over his shoulder was more tempting than he knew; John resisted the urge to ravish him on the kitchen counter, but it was a near thing and any other day he would have surrendered to the impulse without a second thought.

"I can think of ways I'd rather spend the morning."

"Ingrate." Leonard huffed, but there was no heat in the word. "I'm starving, someone came in late last night."

"Oh?" They shared a complicit smile, though John's twisted and dimmed at the thought that Leonard would never quite smile at him like this again- not that trustingly, at least.

What had begun as idle, intrusive thoughts were quickly overpowering his usual facade.

"That looks like a heavy thought." Len offered, pouring himself a generous helping of coffee and dumping enough sugar cubes in it to satisfy even a toddler's taste for sweets.

John chose not to share in the drink. Not with his heart already hammering in his chest and every centimeter of skin alive with sensation. He was overwrought already and with such little time left to bring himself under control once more.

"Heavy thoughts get lighter when you share the burden." Leonard pressed, casting a stern look over the rim of his mug that suggested he was ready and willing to take on the world if it meant bringing Harrison a little peace of mind.

That was something both of them loved in him, the dogged loyalty that would be the same force tearing them apart.

"Nothing too serious. I'd rather spend the day with you than a convocation of doctors." The disgust in his voice was entirely unfeigned, and if Leonard didn't quite believe the excuse at least he wouldn't be able to put his finger on why.

"Can't be that bad, it's only a couple days. Anyone could manage that. And on behalf of 'fleet doctors, I'm sure you'll have them tearing their hair out too."

John hummed noncommittally, tucking into his food with haste. Leonard watched with a bemused expression, leisurely sipping his coffee and taking time with his food, ever the sensualist. The trick was to convince him there was something better on offer.

"There's still a matter of hours until I need to leave-"

"Then you could take the time to enjoy your breakfast." Leonard's eyes twinkled with mischief, lips twitching from holding back a grin. That was a rare sight this early in the morning, and John paused for a moment to savor it before pressing on.

"And you have the day off."

"I do." His lips lost the battle, a grin spreading across his face the mug couldn't hide.

"Leonard." It was a plea as much as a soft rebuke, and his partner responded to it in exactly the way he had hoped: by putting down the damnable coffee mug and pushing aside his plate.

"He used to court me." Len murmured to an imaginary audience with a vague gesture in John's direction, but his eyes were lingering on the 'v' of exposed skin bared by the robe. John debated calling his bluff, but he would far rather show Leonard without words what he meant. What he was worth.

Everything. Anything at all, but after today Leonard would analyze every conversation they had, pick apart every word and whispered secret and conclude that John Harrison was a lie and all they had an illusion. He didn't intend to let him get away with it- he would imprint himself on every inch of Leonard's skin and when the doubt crept in, Leonard would still remember this and in some quiet corner of himself know that it could not all have been an illusion.

"I will court you again." John offered, flashing a self-deprecating smile. The words had two very different meanings for them, but John considered it a promise nonetheless. Leonard only rolled his eyes, pushing himself to his feet and sweeping into John's space to run a teasing hand down the seam of his robe.

"I like this. Very convenient-"

Impatient, John caught his hand and pulled him near to run a firm hand down Len's spine until he arched into John's chest, ever-obliging. He let his hand rest lightly on the curve of Leonard's ass, suggesting but not demanding more. Leonard chuckled and slipped one hand down to play with the knot holding the robe together, the other pressing into John's shoulder to grab a hank of the soft fabric.

He pulled gently, "Don't blame me if you miss your transport."

John didn't bother answering in so many words, pressing a light kiss to Leonard's cheek, wrapping his free arm about him and drawing him so close it was impossible to say where one ended and the other began. He wanted to take his time today, commit every sound and sensation to memory. Fortunately Leonard was of the same mind, returning his kisses softly, pressing them down his jaw and neck, teasing around his lips.

He considered just moving them to the couch, pressing Leonard down into the cushions and lying there heart-to-heart and body to body as long as they liked, but the bedroom wasn't much farther away and Leonard liked the decadent feel of fine sheets against his skin, hands constantly kneading like a satisfied cat.

Leonard was the one to lead him, a playful smirk lighting his face as he used the robe's ties to draw John after him, not wasting any time at all in pushing him onto the bed and undoing the damnable knot between them all in one smooth motion. He reached out, expected Leonard to follow him down, ready to peel the ratty shirt and pants from him, but once again his lover surprised him.

The synth-silk of his robe's tie hissed against the sheets as Leonard pulled it free, twining it around his own hands and glancing at the headboard in a way John instinctively did not trust.

It must have shown on his face because Leonard wrinkled his nose and gave a self-deprecating chuckle that cut off quickly when John lifted his shirt to press a wet kiss to his abs, smiling against the skin there at the way Len involuntarily flinched and gasped. Carefully he twined a hand about the silk and pulled, yanking Leonard down beside him where he belonged.

He froze when Leonard winced, subtly adjusting the angle of his knee and playing it off as though he wasn't hurting.

The damned Nibiru incident. John fought to contain the flash of anger that shot through him anew, reminding himself that Leonard McCoy had been a competent officer before he even woke in this world. There was no injury on him a dermal regenerator could not have healed immediately, but Leonard would have his stubborn way and insist on healing naturally what he could.

"You're still hurting," John murmured. How many times had he given an order that could have meant the death of one of his own? Countless, but it had always been a calculated risk. He had lost a handful of comrades to the cry sleep he had consigned them to, lost others in the wars and petty skirmishes for dominance.

Yet he had only ever taken essential risks with sufficient yield to justify them. Kirk seemed to enjoy nothing so much as playing with fire and daring it to burn him with his increasingly grand gestures. And of course Leonard wouldn't stand by and watch his friends burn.

"I'm old 'n sore is all." Leonard grumbled, clearly not pleased at the turn the morning was taking. It sounded like a rote answer to a question posed once too often. Troubled at the implications of that, John was considering how he might breach the obvious question without pricking his delicate temper when Leonard took the choice out of his hands, drawing him into a kiss designed to make him forget the unwelcome inquiry.

Pressing any harder would only mean a fight; he didn't want to part on those terms, so he tilted his head to give Leonard a better angle, running his nails down Leonard's spine until he arched like a cat into John's chest. He chuckled at the shaky breath Leonard pulled away to take, but his amusement was short-lived.

Leonard-clever man- ran his silk-wrapped hand up John's length, smirking when John lost the battle with his self-control and bucked into his grip.

"Good?" Leonard tightened his grip and quickly shifted, knowing full well what the answer was but thoroughly enjoying the breathless 'yes' John nearly choked on. He didn't even have the breath to laugh when Leonard clumsily shucked his pants, kicking them away with characteristic annoyance.

Never one for passive enjoyment, John yanked Leonard to him, wrapping the remainder of the silk cord about his own fist and pushing their cocks together, stroking languidly until his lover was panting as heavily as he. Len pressed his forehead to John's chest, tucking himself comfortably beneath his chin and breathing hotly against sensitive skin.

They were uncharacteristically quiet- for once Leonard had no pithy remarks to make, and John didn't want to profane their small moment of peace with filthy promises or maudlin declarations of love and loyalty. They moved together, Leonard wrapping a tense arm about his waist to hold him closer, John's own leg twining about his own, pale against tan.

Leonard was not a fragile man, John could feel every flex of his muscle as they writhed languidly, studying faded old scars on his skin and the pale pink of newly healed injuries. He was not a fragile man, but John was painfully aware of how easy it would be to break him- it was simultaneously frightening and arousing- all that strength and sheer will focused on him but never quite the match of his own.

Yet, eyeing the unblemished skin of his wrist, he knew that was wrong. They were fashioned precisely to match and equal each other. He tightened his grip, swallowing Leonard's unintended squeak with a final kiss, deep and slow and filled with all the soft things he wasn't cruel enough to say. A Judas kiss for his beloved.

Mercilessly Leonard ran the silk over the head of his cock, playing a corner languidly about the slit, moaning unabashedly when John rocked into him and increased the pace, chasing their peak with single-minded determination. Leonard's thigh tensed and shifted against his own, toes curling with the effort of holding back, but John wouldn't let him, manhandling Leonard atop him and forcing him to ride his hips if he wanted any friction.

One hand braced against John's shoulder, the other clamping over his hand, forcing him to keep his punishing rhythm, Leonard finally came, striping John's chest with his cum, crying out in such abandon John was helpless but to follow him.

They lay together in the aftermath, Leonard collapsed bonelessly atop him, thoroughly uncaring of the ridiculous picture they made- Leonard with his hair fly-away mussed, and shirt rumpled but still on, John with his robe splayed about them like a profane halo. He tried to shift his weight off, but John clamped an arm about him and stubbornly refused to let go despite half-hearted protests.

He waited until Leonard's breathing had evened out, body grown heavy with contented sleep before he gently shifted him away. He stood and shrugged out of his robe, reminiscing smile gradually fading as he pulled his good clothes from the wardrobe- the longcoat that Leonard teased betrayed a melodramatic streak. The high-collared shirt woven of heat-resistant fabric that had earned him an arched brow and a half-concerned "planning a vacation?"

Pushing the memories away he dressed quickly and efficiently, careful not to wake his partner. His bag was packed, the duffel containing everything from his creds to weapons he had brought to life from Section 31's impersonal schematics.

Finally prepared, he paused by the bed just long enough to press a final kiss to Leonard's lips, pulling away when he began to stir. One more to the pulse in his wrist, beating just beneath the name written there.

Leonard murmured a sleepy question, but John was already gone, on his way to London.

 

 

* * *

 

The chime of his comm woke him- the screen emblazoned with "Captain."

When the hell Jim had gotten his grubby paws all over Leonard's comm unit, he wasn't sure but he had the presence of mind to scrabble back into his pants and straighten his shirt before answering.

"Why do you always comm when I'm sleeping?"

"Better question: why are you always sleeping?" Jim chirped, "And the best question is… guess who's assigned to the _Enterprise_?"

"I'll be damned." Leonard blinked incredulously, "I guess your daddy's bigger 'n the admiralty-"

"Don't put that image in my head, Bones." Jim shook his head at Leonard's delighted cackle. "And you call _me_ a child."

"Birds of a feather, I suppose." Leonard agreed, glancing around the apartment uneasily. It felt empty when John wasn't there, but now… it felt unnerving. Like the apartment was unlived in, never mind that there were dirty dishes in the sink and his coat was thrown over the back of a kitchen chair.

He vaguely remembered warm lips against his own, against the name on his wrist he forgot more often than not these past few weeks. He glanced down at it now, unheeding of Jim's puzzled frown.

"Something on your mind, Bones?"

Leonard snapped back to the conversation immediately, "What did you need, _kid_?"

"Love, admiration, for you to call me captain occasionally-"

_Not any more_. Leonard didn't have the heart to say it aloud. He settled for a short "Specifically."

"Specifically, Scotty and I were thinking sandwiches-"

" _Again_? Are you serious?"

"Just catching lunch before everyone and their cousin hears about my demotion. It'll be fun, Bones. We can talk trash and mechanics- Scotty's working on a new equation. Uhura promised to take Spock to the pier so you don't even have to think up any fresh insults." Jim finished triumphantly.

Of course, what else should he have expected? With Jim it always came down to the three Fs of survival, and 'food' was his favorite no matter what scuttlebutt said.

"Can't you stay in for once?"

"I really can't. So you'll meet me downtown and we'll walk there together, right?"

He sighed deeply enough that Jim knew his answer before he finally managed an entirely too enthusiastic "Fine. Where do we meet?"

 

 

There was a spring to Leonard's step that Jim could see even from a distance. In anyone else Jim would have called it a 'skip', but since Bones was the final arbiter in all matters hypospray and knew exactly which vaccine gave him a reaction, he wisely chose to say nothing at all.

"All the cuisine this city has to offer and you want sandwiches again." The words might have fallen with a bit more force if Leonard hadn't smiled quite so wide or fondly.

Nevertheless, Jim tried to play along with the mocking frustration. "Six months without anything that didn't come out of a vacuum pack. I think if the man that keeps our ship in the sky wants a sandwich we should humor him."

"But why sandwiches?" Bones snorted, "Doesn't make any sense."

"If your positions had been reversed, you would still be eating pie for supper."

"True." Bones conceded easily. Too easily.

"What's with you today? I haven't seen you this relaxed since-" Jim trailed off, taking a mental tally that Bones waited patiently- patiently- to hear, "Since possibly ever."

"I'm in a good mood." Bones rocked forward on the balls of his feet, settling with a gleeful little hop that had Jim grinning back.

"Somebody's getting laid." Jim teased, throwing an arm about Leonard's shoulders to pull him along.

"Fuck you." Bones parried lightly, wrapping an arm about Jim's waist and matching their strides. "Lucky for you I don't have better company today."

"So you're stuck with me." Jim sighed dramatically, "I'll try to make it up to you. And are we ever going to meet the mysterious Mr. Harrison? If the evidence wasn't so obvious, I'd think he was a figment of your imagination." Jim flipped his collar lightly, betraying a hickey Leonard had almost forgotten about.

He didn't even have the grace to blush any more, lips quirking in amusement. "One of these days. He's in London now, some sort of conference-"

"A conference in London that you passed up to be with me? You're so sweet."

"More 'n you deserve." Leonard finished triumphantly, unresisting when Jim yanked him in for a tight embrace.

They emerged onto the main street, swallowed suddenly by a throng of unmoving people, the collective buzz of conversation and shocked exclamations enough to drown out their conversation. Instinctively, Leonard glanced up at the screen projected before them, distantly aware of Jim's hand clamping like a vice in his shirt.

"What the hell." He wasn't sure which of them said it: Jim with his eyes wide as saucers and mouth gaping in shock, or himself, his breath leaving him so quickly it felt like a punch to the gut.

The image was blazing with fire and billowing smoke, the wreckage of buildings scattered about while people scrambled for safety or wandered the street in shock. The sound of the report was tinny in his ears, all of his attention focused on the words scrolling across the bottom of the screen: "Attack on London, Kelvin Archives."

Slowly, hands already trembling with adrenaline, he reached for the comm device in his back pocket, pressing the first name to appear on the screen. He lifted it hesitantly, Jim leaning into him both to hear the message and offer a steady support as he swayed slightly.

It felt like an eternity before the comm finally disengaged, showing him the default message that John was away.

"He's in London, you don't think he'd need to be at the archives? It was a conference, he should have been at London HQ-"

"Yes." Jim agreed, not needing any clarification, uncaring if it was true. "Yes, they'll be getting the report now too."

Leonard tried again, heart in his throat and beating so fast he wondered how he kept it down. The comm returned its message once more, and he had to swallow twice to keep vomit from coming up. After all he had seen and heard, this was turning him into a frightened child again.

He put his comm away, willing his hands to steadiness once more but leaning heavily on Jim, allowing him to guide them out of the crowd. For a second, when he heard Jim's comm chime he thought it was his own and scrambled to pull it out, eyes pricking with tears he damn well wasn't going to shed until he knew one way or the other what had happened.

An explosion like that meant there had to be hundreds dead or injured. Possibly thousands, and selfish bastard that he was all he had thought of was John. They would need doctors; he needed to be there.

Jim was speaking into his comm, grim and focused, gaze flicking to Leonard worriedly every few seconds. Mind made up, Leonard was already moving with purpose, footsteps turning in the direction of HQ and the transports they would be loading within the hour.

The hand on his shoulder barely phased him, Jim or not. He shrugged it off and kept walking with single-minded determination until Jim finally clamped a hand about his arm and spun him around: "Bones, stop and think-"

"They'll need doctors, Jim, and I'm one of the best." He was proud of how calm he sounded, how reasonable.

"They'll have them. We have branches closer to London than this. Admiral Marcus has called an emergency meeting, I have to go and you need to go home."

"I can't. I can't, Jim. I need to be working." It was how he coped, how he had always coped- his father's disease, his mother's grief, the runes that had refused to fade no matter how he worried at them and Jocelyn's leaving, all of them solved when he buried himself in his work to the exclusion of all else.

He couldn't run away to Starfleet again, but Jim was heading there anyway. "I'll come with you."

Jim growled, worry and determination warring on his face. He understood though, of all the crew he understood best. "Fine. Let's go."

Had he been alone, Leonard might have run, trying to escape the thoughts plaguing his footsteps, but Jim held him fast, forcing them to a rapid walk that ate up the ground but preserved their energy. Leonard could see the thoughts flitting behind his eyes, already trying to fit puzzle pieces together when he couldn't yet see the bigger picture.

How long had he wasted before telling John he loved him? How long had he agonized over a meaningless name when it was clear the man he wanted was already at his side? How could he have ever felt guilty for enjoying that time, for allowing himself to fall a little deeper in love with John everyday. If the Designated could have their fated meetings and fall in love all in a moment's time, why had he ever bothered about moving too fast?

John was safe. He was going to come home, and Leonard was going to make certain he knew where he stood in relation to everyone else. They were going to do as they damn well pleased and to hell with anyone else's doom-saying.

 

 

 

The rest of med staff was as distracted by the news as he; Leonard could see it in the way they focused single-mindedly on their work, no wasted words no pauses to gossip or even acknowledge that there was a world outside the bleached white halls they strode down by rote.

Every noise was a distraction, every snag an unforgivable interruption. Leonard buried himself in smaller tasks- a suture here, a concussion there. Too many had reported in for work, all of them seeking some distraction and for once there weren't enough patients to fill his time.

He checked his comm five times, six, praying as he hadn't since his very early years. He had begged for his Designated then, an impossible task perhaps; all he asked now was that his comm would show him a familiar face. After the first time Jim had mercifully stopped checking in with him, likely caught up in the emergency meeting.

Leonard was just sitting down to an entirely unnecessary break, coffee in hand though hunger and thirst was far beyond him, when he heard the explosion. He turned, catching M'Benga's eyes as the man stood frozen in the break room door, both of them staring incredulously. Two attacks in one day and no word on who or what had orchestrated them. He dumped the coffee, even forgetting his comm in the rush to make sure all facilities were prepared.

Whoever was listening answered all the wrong prayers; his boredom was replaced by a flurry of activity with all hands on deck, gnawing sense of worry and nerves replaced with anger and fear.

It was only moments before the emergency staff began pouring in, officers still in uniform, most borne on stretchers but some few escorted by nursing staff on their own two feet. Frantically he glanced about, making sure Jim wasn't there, even Spock- he didn't have time. By the end of the hour he was elbow deep in a man's guts, stemming the flow of blood their regenerators couldn't reach.

In the back of his mind he fretted. Every officer summoned to that meeting and it had been attacked. Jim never could keep his head down and Spock… Spock had already spectacularly demonstrated his complete disregard for his own life and wellbeing.

Not Jim, Not Spock. It repeated like a mantra in his head as he worked to stabilize every patient brought to him- not as many as it could have been, thankfully. Not the number they had prepared for, but he had told Jim he was the best and Leonard was relieved he had been on duty for the attack. The work quieted his anxiety, slowly assuaging that feeling of helplessness that had set in when they stood on the sidewalk first watching the disaster unfold.

No. Not the disaster. There had been order and method. The _attack_ on Starfleet, continuous from London to San Fran.

His gut churned. John was research and development. Leonard wasn't naive enough to think that came without some connection to Starfleet Intelligence. Could they have predicted this? Had the 'conference' in London been related?

When he stepped out at last, weary in every part of his body and so damned relieved he hadn't seen a familiar face among his patients that it made him ill, his questions were immediately silenced.

Jim was waiting for him near the changing room, spattered in blood Leonard guiltily hoped was not his own and covered in cuts and contusions no one had bothered to treat. His eyes were bright and red-rimmed, betraying recently shed tears.

"Spock." Leonard whispered hoarsely, swallowing to banish the lump in his throat as he made his way across the hallway. Jim would need to be treated, every wound sanitized at the least, but Leonard was glad to be the one putting him back together again needing to see for himself that his friend had emerged relatively unscathed.

"No." Jim said, voice dull but firm. It was a voice Leonard had never heard from him before, blunt and emotionless.

Leonard reached him, ungloved hands rising to hover carefully over the cut bisecting his brow but Jim stepped back, putting a gulf of air between them.

Jim held up a PADD, the screen facing away from Leonard. He continued in the same dull voice, raising the hairs on Len's neck. "Captain Christopher Pike is dead."

"Jim." The name left him on a whisper of breath to fall between them. He had pieced Pike back together himself after the _Narada_ incident and Jim hadn't left his side except for official duties until Leonard had promised him on everything he had left in the world that the man was going to live.

He was an essential part of the family Jim had built himself in Starfleet, and he was gone.

_I'm sorry_. The words were pitifully frail, but words could never capture his depth of sympathy and Jim was all but projecting a wall between them. Instinctively Leonard didn't move; Jim wasn't done.

When he spoke again, there was a threat in the words that had Leonard McCoy, friend of Jim Kirk since their first day on the transport, stepping back a half-pace.

"John _fucking_ Harrison killed him." Jim shoved the PADD into his chest, striding away before Leonard could do more than catch the PADD- knocking into his shoulder and nearly veering into a wall as he stumbled away, still untreated.

Leonard couldn't follow him. Numb, he turned the screen to face him, staring down at the image he had prayed so fervently to see on his comm not hours past.

John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's not Monday, but it _is_ posted! Now we've finally got this show on the road ^.^
> 
> Inspiration for chapter title comes from Robert Frost's "Fire and Ice"


	13. Loyal to the Bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonard copes, Jim copes too. One of them does it better than the other.

Leonard rolled out of his all but undisturbed bed, made his way to the bathroom and began to brush his teeth mechanically. His hands knew by rote where everything was, no need for the glaring artificial light. He didn't want to look at the haggard man in the mirror, the dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes, the fly-away hair or the new lines that had carved themselves into his face overnight. The cuff on his wrist felt too tight this morning, constantly pulling his eyes there instead. He had never bothered to wear one before, but ever since his Designation had resolved itself Leonard had found himself protective of the name.

John had pouted every time Leonard had used it. Leonard had ribbed him about an exhibitionist streak, proudly parading around with a man whose Designation didn't match his own bare skin. All too often that had ended with his wrist bare and John twined with him anywhere from their room to the couch to the kitchen counter. Perversely the thoughts still held a spark of nostalgic pleasure, tainted by tragedy but still present. Len stripped the cuff off defiantly, tossing it into the bin. If Command found out he had been concealing a fully resolved Designation they would have some personal questions for him, but given his relationship to Harrison, those questions were bound to be asked anyway.

He stumbled into the shower, the punishingly cold water stealing his breath and forcing him awake despite the weariness that had settled into his bones. This wasn't a day for self-pity, too much work to be done, and last night had already been a shit-show.

 

Once he had finally made his way out of medical, numb with shock while his mind tried desperately to process everything Jim's PADD was telling him, Scotty had been waiting. Sulu hovered slightly behind, looking a little out of place and anxious to be gone. Like Jim he was deathly allergic to the mere sight of anything medical. The thought held none of its usual amusement, instead calling to mind the chill in John's voice: _I've never cared much for doctors_.

God, could he really have been living with a _terrorist_? What were the chances the intelligence could be wrong when John had been staring back at him from among the wreckage? In his gut it felt true, and that more than anything threatened to make Leonard toss up the bucketful of coffee he had ingested.

"Y'all right?" Scotty's tone suggested he knew it was a stupid question, but it had to be asked for form's sake.

"Yes." And tradition demanded he lie. Memories unraveled before his mind's eye: the way John's nose wrinkled when he found something distasteful, the way his lips curved with mischief at a joke or the feel of his hands skimming down Leonard's back, lips playing over his Designation-

" _No_ , I'm gonna be sick." Leonard retched, tears of exertion stinging his eyes. It had taken all the energy he had left to stay on his feet those last couple hours. It had taken more self-discipline than he thought was in him to pretend his mind was on his work and not with that PADD, the one he hadn't shown to anyone at all. John fucking Harrison, Jim had said, and the world had ended for a split second before restarting again, leaving Leonard trapped in that second even now.

Scotty thumped him hard on the back, forcing him abruptly back into the present. "Jim sent you to babysit me?"

For once he half-hoped the answer was yes, hoped Jim had already forgiven him enough to care what happened after he left.

Sulu spoke, voice measured and even in a way Scotty could never have managed: "Christine."

"God bless her." Leonard growled, meaning exactly the opposite. When she had noticed his preoccupation and commed them he didn't know. He wasn't certain whether he was furious at her for interfering or grateful she had bothered. He clung to the fury, trying to force his way out of the fog.

"What happened, man?" Scotty again, "I mean, besides the obvious." He was already piecing himself back together, shaken but ready for anything.

"John Harrison." The name felt too heavy on his tongue, but Len forced it out anyway. Step one to becoming a fully functional human being again.

"He's-"

"My ex." Suddenly he couldn't stop laughing, couldn't breathe for it. He laughed until tears escaped, until he was gasping with the effort of drawing a breath and Scotty's hand was clamped on his bicep to hold him steady, Sulu bracing as though for a fight.

"Jesus." Scotty whispered, and Leonard thought for once it might have been an honest prayer. "Y'don't think this is on you?"

"Of course not." Leonard snapped. He hadn't set the charges, hadn't made the plans or knowingly sheltered a criminal. He had noticed a few eccentricities here and there, nothing that couldn't be explained by John's work. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't. Yet Jim's 'father' was still dead, and more with him. He had left dozens of injured in the infirmary and the whole city's- the whole planet's peace of mind had been shattered in the space of a day. But at least Leonard H. McCoy could say it wasn't his fault.

"Dammit." He snarled the word, clenching his fists at his sides and forcing himself to look his friends in the eyes. "It's not my fault."

"There's a good man." Scotty patted his back once more, again for good measure. He flashed a telling look at Sulu who promptly took his place on Leonard's other side, just far enough way that their sleeves wouldn't brush but close enough to lend a hand if he stumbled. He didn't deserve his friends.

"We'll get you home-"

"I don't need a couple of nannies." Leonard growled. He could feel bile pooling at the back of his throat threatening to come up; he swallowed it down, determined they wouldn't see another outburst.

"I could use some company." Sulu cut in smoothly. "It's been a long night." His lips thinned, Adam's apple bobbing with a stiff swallow. Of course. They hadn't all been working medical, but Scotty and Sulu had been scrambling like any officers; even now they were still in hastily donned uniforms, probably on their feet all night long with emergency duties and still they had made time to come and collect him. Leonard drew a breath, released it and drew another.

"No drinks." He muttered finally.

"No." Scotty agreed fervently. Leonard was ashamed that it was the first time he had noticed how pale and drawn the man looked, like he was on his last legs. "I have to examine the wreckage." He choked on the last word, but cleared his throat to cover it. "Tomorrow."

They made a fine company as they trudged back to Leonard's quarters on campus. Not a word was spoken between them, but somehow they all knew where to go. Leonard wanted to be close as much as a precaution against emergencies as for the comfort of someplace familiar and entirely untouched by John Harrison. He didn't intend to go back to the apartment they had shared either. Security was probably ripping the place apart looking for evidence of collusion and conspiracy, anything that could tell them how a loyal Starfleet officer could turn so fast. Even when they gave him the all-clear Leonard wasn't certain he could bring himself to step foot there again. The betrayal was too raw, and he didn't care to unpack any more memories than the ones swimming in his head already.

Scotty hovered on the threshold while Sulu followed him in, scanning the room as though looking for the ghost of the man that had chased him here.

"You c'n go. I'll be all right." He would be, Leonard knew, but not tonight; he didn't want company.

Sulu caught his eyes for a moment, mouth twisted in the beginning of what Leonard was sure was meant to be reassurance. He didn't shape the words though, just nodded and showed himself out.

Leonard at least had the presence of mind to wait until the door slid shut before he gave in to his impulse. He swept his arms across his desk, PADDs clattering to the floor with a satisfying crash, chair tipping over as he knocked violently into it. Jim and Scotty were both vocal advocates of drunken brawls to settle the emotions, but Leonard didn't want to hurt anyone but himself. A cheap mug had left his hand to shatter against the wall before he even realized he had been holding it, his fist following close on its heels. It stung like the devil, enough to call him back to himself. Enough that he felt the shame of his tantrum burning down his ears and throat.

Kicking off his boots he made his way to the bed and threw himself into it, uncomfortable but unwilling to move. Try as he might, sleep didn't come.

 

 

As he made his way from shower to kitchen in the early hours of the morning, picking his way over the shards of a broken mug, Leonard gave quiet thanks there hadn't been much to break. There were imprints in the wall left by his sore knuckles, PADDs strewn about the floor and a couple chairs sat sideways across the room from where they were meant to be. Nothing he couldn't fix himself, though he left his hands as they were; bruises wouldn't interfere with his work, and in some corner of his mind he felt he deserved the small pain. He set about collecting the PADDs, sorting them once more and putting them back in their proper place. The walls would need maintenance, but the disjointed chairs made for good busy-work.

He kept his comm close at hand, expecting word from Jim at any minute. There was no way on Earth Jim Kirk would take this laying down; he wouldn't take the time to grieve while he felt there was still work to be done.

Except when word finally came it wasn't from Jim at all but one of the automated messages that typically arrived a few minutes after he already had the details of their newest assignment from the captain's mouth. Maybe he was just taking some much needed time for himself, or maybe he just couldn't bring himself to speak with the man that had spent the last month in Harrison's company and done nothing to stop him before it was too late. Leonard couldn't blame him, but it felt like a kick in the gut nonetheless.

Leonard did what he always did best: swallowed his own fears and swore he would make it up to Jim somehow, and until he figured that out the least he could do was help him heal. It would give him someone to think about other than the name rattling around in his thoughts, the one that tasted so bitter on his tongue his lips curled to speak it. He set to with a will, tidying the last of his possessions and taking everything he needed for his med kit. He was willing to wager his last credit that like him Jim hadn't slept much last night- probably wouldn't until the fugitive was apprehended. That meant his captain needed a damn good CMO to keep a weather eye on him.

Fortunately for him, Leonard H. McCoy was one of the best.

 

* * *

 

 

His first sight of Jim after their disastrous last encounter wasn't a joyous reunion by any stretch of the imagination. For one thing, Jim hadn't even glanced in his direction since he had set foot in the hangar. Leonard knew his presence had been remarked, but Jim was either genuinely absorbed in a heated discussion with Mr. Spock or was deliberately avoiding his close friend. Likely both. Leonard squared his shoulders and made his way over to them, unwilling to take no for an answer. "Jim!"

Jim turned toward him; he looked like a vengeful ghost from his sickly pale face to the fury burning behind his impossibly blue eyes, tinting them light as wicked frost. Len caught his breath in shock, letting it out slowly in the hope that his captain wouldn't notice the slip. It was his captain before him now, not his friend. Strangely enough that recalled his duties to mind, and Leonard slipped easily back into his role of professional worrier and dispenser of sound medical advice.

"You didn't check in with medical last night. After a firefight like that-"

"I'm fine, Bones."

Bones. Just like that the universe righted itself- not quite to what it had been yesterday morning, but it wasn't so far off kilter that he felt he might slip off the edge of the planet anymore. He was still Bones, Jim was still Captain Kirk of the USS _Enterprise_ and they were going to catch the son of a bitch that had upended both their lives and throw him to a tribunal.

"The hell you are." He dared to address him as a friend, ignoring the distance between them in the way he knew Jim needed. Grief did strange things to a man as they could both attest, and Len wanted to be sure Jim understood that there was no easy way to break their years-long friendship.

Spock was watching with eagle eyes; Leonard saw agreement reflected back at him, but wisely the Vulcan chose not to comment. In a strangely tactful gesture he stepped away. At least Leonard assumed it was uncharacteristic tact and not a pressing need to ruthlessly organize all the crew-members marching grimly into the shuttle.

"Jim, you just lost a man that might as well have been your father-"

"You don't need to tell me what happened, Bones, I was there." Jim glanced down at the PADD in his hands, ruthlessly stabbing the screen. "Are we done?"

He froze- for the briefest moment his capable mask crumpled to show his grief, but in the next he was firmly back in his captain's boots. "Nearly everyone is aboard already and this is a time-sensitive mission. If I need an exam, you can administer it later."

"You'll have a clean bill of health before you take your chair or I'll give it to _Spock_." Leonard growled, meaning every word. Spock wasn't all there either, who the hell could be after a night like that? But he had his responsibilities to consider, and everything in Leonard urged him not to let Jim out of his sight until he saw some sign of the emotions that usually came so easily to him.

"On the shuttle." Jim's tone was sharp, anything but resigned. It was a concession, and Bones took it for the truce it was meant to be. Whether Jim had forgotten in the heat of the moment that Leonard had spent the last couple months madly in love with a murderer or whether he had written it off as shitty luck of the draw Bones couldn't bring himself to question. He followed Jim aboard, tricorder in hand and professional mask firmly in place; for once he didn't have any smart comments to make, even when Spock made his way to Jim's side once more and resumed their brief conversation.

Settling behind them Leonard felt his natural giddiness taking over. In a starship it was easy to pretend they weren't hurdling through space at impossible speeds with nothing but human workmanship to hold them in the air. In the shuttle, he was reminded of it every time he turned his head to the left or right. Space pressed in on him from all sides; it added to the churning feeling that had been gathering in his gut since he first glanced at that damnable PADD.

Determinedly he refocused his attention to Jim's vitals, grimacing at the spike in Jim's normally disgustingly textbook blood pressure to his pulse, flying at almost twice its usual rate. "Jim-"

"Not now, Bones." Jim shrugged his equipment away, turning back to Spock and pressing their heads together. They were all trying for a pretense at normalcy, but of all of them Leonard prided himself he was succeeding the best. He was going to drink himself into a stupor as soon as they were dirt-side again, and he wasn't sure what the hell he was going to do if he came face to face with Harrison again, but for now he was Dr. McCoy and acting the role better than he had thought he could when he first woke this morning.

Frustrated, he drew a breath- nearly coughing with surprise when a tidbit of their conversation drifted back to him: "In Klingon space-"

"We're heading into Klingon territory?" His voice rose incredulously. Jim wasn't thinking straight certainly, but was he mad with grief that he thought starting a damn war could fix it? "Jim-"

"Bones." Jim snapped, "Get that thing off my face."

Leonard snapped his mouth shut, yanking his equipment away before Jim damaged it in his temper. He wasn't getting any answers straight away, which meant they were doing exactly what he thought they were doing- following Harrison into Klingon space without any sort of back up. Whoever had approved this madcap stunt, Leonard wanted his name and rank more than he wanted his next breath of air. The mention of torpedoes had him staring wide-eyed at Jim, nostrils flaring stress. "We're not heading to Kro-"

Movement caught his eye, a flash of blue, blonde, and skin in his periphery. Len's eyes flashed to the newcomer, distracted for all of a second, but she had a PADD in hand that he was sure had her clearance. None of his business then. Until he saw what her proximity did to Jim's vitals.

Impossible. The universe couldn't be that cruel. Not now. Not when Jim hadn't even had the chance to grieve for his loss and they were hunting down a fugitive. Not when Jim had been waiting for this woman since he had been old enough to know what a Designation was and that he definitely belonged somewhere in the cosmos because someone else was looking at his name on their wrist and knowing the same.

 

 

"Jim-"

" _Bones_ -"

Jim cut off, arrested by the vision in blue before him. Golden hair perfectly coiffed, just enough mascara to show off powder blue eyes beneath charmingly long lashes… he came crashing back into the present, forgetting the sound of glass crackling and the death rattle in Chris' throat, the alarms blaring and the echo of phaser fire. For a second, and only a second, Jim's world quieted.

"Captain Kirk? Carol-"

No. Not Carol Marcus. His luck wasn't that good but after everything he had been through these harrowing hours, Jim had the temerity to hope maybe for once fate would give something back.

"Wallace."

Of course. The smile he mustered for her was no less genuine for being tempered with disappointment and fatigue.

She was already light years ahead of his normally swift tongue, rattling off something about being assigned to his ship and presenting her transfer orders; Jim noted with surprise that the PADD she had carried was already in his hands and he was reading it. Reading it again to be sure his eyes had seen that right.

 _Another science officer?_ He had plenty of them, each uniquely qualified to do jobs even he struggled to understand sometimes. Most of them weren't this effortlessly engaging though, and none of them had ever managed to get his undivided attention so quickly outside of a crisis. "Welcome aboard."

"Captain." Spock murmured, but Jim turned a deaf ear to what he was sure was going to be a protest.

Bones was muttering something behind him, threats of black mutiny most likely. Jim surrendered to the illusion of normalcy, drawing his first deep breath since the sight of Pike had knocked the wind out of him last night. He wasn't better, not by a long shot, but something had shifted at last; the ball of hatred, fear and sorrow coiled in the back of his throat was no longer choking him for now. What would happen once he laid eyes on Harrison was anyone's guess.

Harrison. John Harrison and Leonard McCoy. Just yesterday he had been clamoring to meet the mystery man that had carved such a chunk out of his friend's life. He had conspired to get Bones a night here and there, free time that he would never have taken for himself otherwise. It felt like a dream, how happy he had been; if he didn't have his own Designated then at least he had been able to meddle in a friend's romantic affair to his heart's content. After everything he had pried out of Bones on the subject of John Harrison, Jim had to admit their attacker's identity had shaken him to his core.

He trusted Bones' judgment with people. McCoy was one of those rare beasts that could see the devil for what he was and still feel compassion for him. He spared no one's feelings, least of all his own when he gave his measure of a man or woman, sizing them up as thoroughly as if they had been his patients. Leonard hadn't seen this coming; John had seemed like everything he had ever needed in a partner, and Jim had envied how easily they had clicked even as he privately wondered if Leonard was a traditional ceremony sort of man or preferred a quiet, civil gathering.

Hell, once or twice he had even caught himself preparing the "treat him right" speech of a lifetime.

"Bones, put that thing away or I will _break_ it."

Leonard tutted and grumbled but obeyed, the equilibrium between them restored on the surface.

Bones hadn't seen it coming, but was that because Harrison was just that good or because he hadn't wanted to see? Was it fair to consider those circumstances entirely different?

Yes, Jim decided, he needed to know where Leonard's loyalties were going to be once they brought Harrison in. Not a week past there had been stars in his eyes and a smile on his face every time Harrison's name came up. It was relevant. Those inconvenient feelings didn't disappear overnight in Jim's experience; then again, he'd never dated a terrorist and a murderer before either. How could he not have known? Jim did blame him somewhere deep down that he didn't want to acknowledge. It was the same place he kept all the resentment of his mother for leaving him on the damn planet while she tried to escape her grief in the stars, the betrayal he felt when Sam had walked away, dusting the memory of his brother off as easily as he did the sand coating his shoes-

They weren't even remotely similar. Leonard hadn't abandoned him, hadn't made a conscious decision to leave Jim Kirk behind, but it stung all the same. He wasn't thinking rationally Jim was willing to concede, but Spock would be the first to remind him that Humans seldom managed that anyway. What was important now was getting rid of Harrison and hopefully safeguarding his friend enough that he would never have to feel conflicted. Once that was done he and Leonard would effortlessly right themselves, the world harmonizing once more. Hell, he'd even see about helping Bones find someone to get over the terrible choice they would never mention again.

It couldn't be that hard to find a Khan Noonien Singh. At least Jim hoped it would be far easier than finding a Carol Marcus.

He flashed a quick, guilty glance to the woman seated across from him, nose nearly pressing into the view port in her excitement. Wonder was writ in every line of her frame from the tilt of her head to the reverent press of her hand against the port. Everyone around them was huddling in on themselves, feeling the chill bite of space even in close quarters. Not Wallace. The cold didn't touch her, didn't dare disturb the almost spiritual awakening she had. Jim could relate; he had looked something like that himself the first time he had boarded a shuttle for space. Even now his eyes tracked their progress into the black, feeling more like himself the nearer they came to dock. His thoughts were no lighter, consumed with all the things he wanted personally to do to John Harrison, but he felt stable at last, ready and capable to do his duty.

 

* * *

 

 

Leonard recognized the torpedoes right off, all the smooth curves and hollows his fingers had traced early in their design. He hadn't thought they were weapons then, they had looked something like early stasis pods, completely harmless. John had played to that illusion nicely, picking Leonard's brain on the subject of suspended consciousness and functional preservation. It had devolved into childish stories; the myths left over of heroes floating in their glass tombs far in space waiting to be awakened whenever they were needed most. As a boy he had loved those stories, even if history proved them false again and again.

Together he and John had traced those myths across cultures and species, the tellings and re-tellings that shared that common thread, recounting them to each other in a lighthearted game of oneupmanship. None of that had seemed important until now. Harrison must have selected his prey carefully, Leonard thought with a bitter smile.

More alarming still was that Scotty was nervous. He eyed them like volatile mines that might go off if he stepped too close. It might have been close to the mark for all he knew.

"I'm telling you that this is feeling more and more like a military operation. We're explorers, Jim! Marcus is using us as damned warmongers."

Jim looked frustrated, pushed past whatever limits he had and then some. He was stiff and brittle, curling his lip in just that way he had before fists started flying. Leonard subtly maneuvered himself nearer, ready to catch an arm and remind him this wasn't a bar and Scotty was his friend and subordinate.

"Sign for the torpedoes, Mr. Scott."

"I think he has a point." Leonard cut in, lending support where it was due. He hadn't signed on to this ship for the sort of assignment his captain had apparently accepted. Seventy-two torpedoes against one man was overkill, and exactly the way to spark a conflict that would claim far more lives than Harrison's in the long run.

"I do." Scotty barked, "My point is that we're not murderers, and that's exactly what Marcus is making us out to be."

Somehow the thought of killing the bastard without even taking him back to face trial had his heart wrenching painfully. Jim Kirk wasn't a killer, and Leonard McCoy wasn't in the business of being an accomplice either, let alone the thousand other crewman that would have to dirty their hands.

"This is wrong-"

"Report to medbay." Jim snapped, turning fever bright eyes on him.

Banished like an unruly child. Leonard snapped a snide salute, feet together and shoulders back. "Aye, _sir_."

He trudged off in a temper, cussing himself for his blindness, Jim for his high-handedness and Scotty for the stubbornness that would get them all killed one day. The memory of the torpedoes nagged at him long after he had mentally pardoned Jim and Scotty. He had the niggling feeling Scotty had the right of it, but more than that the fact that an Admiral had supplied them with weaponry, and experimental tech at that… he was left with more questions than answers.

 

 

 

Leonard had thought he would be safe once he entered medbay: the bright, stark quarters were as familiar to him as his own reflection and already his people were readying the place for mayhem. No one was idle, least of all himself. He set himself to checking inventory, verifying everything was in its proper place and mentally tallying all the faces he did and didn't see. A handful were missing, stationed dirt-side in the wake of the crisis; Leonard was glad his core staff was at hand at least, and waiting for orders.

He obliged at length, taking comfort from the frenzied activity.

They paused only when Jim's voice came over the intercom, shaking with concealed rage but promising at least that Harrison would face justice. Evidently Scotty's words had found their mark, whatever else he had done.

Leonard hated himself all the more for the weight that lifted from his shoulders with that promise, the relief that spread through him. They would be taking John alive, no covert and bloody acts but a triumphant return with Earth's enemy in custody. John would live another day and answer for his deeds. Dozens more wouldn't, but apparently his emotions either hadn't caught up with the fact that John had so completely betrayed him or he was messed up enough not to care.

Though if Jim was bringing Harrison aboard, they would have to meet again. Dread mingled with anticipation; he wanted to scream at John, wanted to show him the aftermath of what he had done, wipe the ever-calm expression from his face and leave him as broken and bruised as everyone else aboard this ship. Len didn't want to speak to him at all, didn't want to see him or hear whatever twisted rationale he had devised for his actions. His thoughts were everywhere, but all of them came back to John.

There would be some sort of driving logic, Leonard knew. That terrified him, both the knowing and the thought that John had felt the need to act so wholly out of character. He desperately wanted to know why, and just as desperately didn't. A new suspicion had crept in now that he was thinking clearly: Harrison might well have targeted him for his proximity to the captain of the flagship, might have kept his finger on the pulse of Starfleet's comings and goings through one unwitting doctor-

But no, his position wasn't so exalted that an intelligence operative could discover anything that wasn't a matter of record through pillow talk. Leonard clung to that, doggedly repeating it until the nagging voice in the back of his skull was silent. What had Harrison wanted with him then? Cover? A convenient fuck? Neither of those felt right, and Leonard knew to trust his instincts, all of which were screaming at him that John had genuinely cared for him in a way their relatively short acquaintance couldn't account for.

It nearly made him ill that even now he couldn't shake that delusion.

"McCoy." Jim breezed through the doors like a hurricane, absent from the bridge that he all too often had to be dragged away from.

Leonard snapped to attention, anything that could drag Jim from his chair mid-warp had to be essential. "Your office."

For once he didn't object to the peremptory summons, striding into his office and locking the door as soon as Jim stepped in. "Yes?" The sir hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't offer it and Jim didn't insist, thank heaven.

"What can you tell me about Harrison that Starfleet can't?"

"What?"

"Harrison. What do you know that his file doesn't?"

"I…" This was important, but his jaw was locking, mind fumbling to come up with anything he could be sure hadn't been an act. It was worse when Jim was watching with openly assessing eyes, wondering at his loyalty even if he didn't recognize it himself.

"He hates doctors." Leonard said slowly, cutting off the beginning of an impatient protest, "It's not a case of white-coat hypertension, but get him anywhere near medical or its staff and his hackles come up."

Jim stayed silent, telling him without words it wasn't enough. "He's methodical, Spock would envy his turn of thought. Highly intelligent-"

"I know. This is all in his profile. Dammit, you know this man-"

"Not as well as I _thought_ , Jim!" His injured fist connected with the table hard enough to send shock waves of pain all through him. Leonard bit back a flood of choice words and met his friend's eyes squarely. "I can't be sure of a damn thing. We talked and ate, slept and fucked and I know fuck-all about John goddamn Harrison!"

Jim's expression softened, eyes losing some of their fire even as his jaw clenched with frustration. "I know, Bones. I just need you to think. What do I need to know before we find him?"

"He's-" _clever, jaded, cultured, jealous_ \- "He's solitary. No real friends, all of them acquaintances; he doesn't give a damn."

"What about you?"

"I thought I was the exception."

Jim mulled that over, glancing tellingly at Leonard's bare wrist. Leonard stared back with vicious satisfaction; the name there wasn't John Harrison- there was nothing broken or corrupt in him the same way as there was in Harrison, even if he had the bad judgment to care for the man in the first place. Even if part of him wanted to shake Harrison 'til his teeth rattled and demand an answer, or if some treacherous part of his mind still wanted to pretend there was anything John could say that would earn his forgiveness.

"D'you think that's because he never really had you?"

"I don't understand." Len shook his head, rubbing his wrist self-consciously before yanking his hand back like a viper had struck at him.

"Maybe it was easier for him to get attached knowing you might leave."

"I don't think so." Something about it echoed wrong when he remembered all the times John had carefully traced the letters of his Designation, the times he had forced Leonard to speak the name aloud and acknowledge the specter between them. "Didn't seem like it." Leonard snorted, "Course he didn't seem a lot of things until a few hours ago."

His captain paced about his quarters, taking in every PADD out of place, every scuff on the once spotless floor. "Marcus said he was intelligence. Section 31."

"Never heard of it."

"Neither had I." Jim shrugged, "But they're preparing us for war."

"Hence this assignment. They wanted us to start this for them-"

"That's not my problem; I just need to know anything that could give me an edge over Harrison. Anything at all."

He could say that John still hadn't adapted to having anything other than plain, tasteless food. He enjoyed watching historical vids, loathed the mysteries Leonard was so fond of; he was always busy tinkering with his models and puzzles. Some days he could sit for hours at a time staring off into space while he mulled over a question that nagged at him, so still Len watched his chest closely to see it rise and fall. He was very tactile, and had a knack for sensing whenever Leonard was near whether he was asleep or waking. A little too self-assured, always watchful and on guard when they weren't tucked safely away in their apartment.

None of which would help in the slightest.

"I'm sorry, Jim, I just don't know him as well as I thought I did."

There was something vaguely accusatory in the silence between them, simmering anger on both sides compounded by fatigue.

"You'll let me know if you think of anything? We're minutes out-"

"You're not seriously going down there." That had been the plan, he knew, but it hadn't really registered until he saw the resignation writ large on Jim's face. "Y'ever seen what Klingons do to prisoners?"

Leonard had. Far too many graphic images to count and all of them vivid even years later. He was well-acquainted with what they did with medical personnel as well; the thought had him clenching his fists with a mixture of concern and fury-

"What happened there?" Jim arched a brow, eying the cut across his knuckles that had started to bleed again.

"I threw a tantrum." Deliberately he loosened his fists, letting his hands fall to his sides. "It's not too bad."

"Bad enough. Fix it." Jim's voice was firm, an order if ever he had given one. For once Leonard didn't even feel the need to protest, relieved that Jim had emerged from his haze enough to begin noticing details like that again.

"I s'spose you have a-"

The ship gave a terrifying lurch, sudden enough to send both of them careening across his office, knocking with bruising force against the far wall. Jim took to his heels as soon as he had righted himself, making for the bridge with Leonard following close behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're entering movie turf here and I'm walking a tightrope between rushing things and dragging my feet, so please feel free to let me know if I'm leaning too much toward one or the other. There's a few thousand words cut from this chapter that I may add later if I can make it flow more naturally. If so, I'll post notice and delete this part of the afterword.
> 
> You might have noticed some changes between movie-verse and this fic, part of that is a function of the AU tag, and if I've done my job right you'll start to see the effects of reading in Bones' POV here.
> 
> All of that aside- Next chapter Bones meets Khan. (I am horribly excited/ficcing furiously, so next update won't be long delayed ^.^)
> 
> And because it can't be said enough- thank you everyone for your patience. This is one of my favorite fics to work on, which you would never guess from the amount of time between updates, but somehow no one ever gets (visibly) impatient with me. I appreciate it, and I hope all your fave fics miraculously update this week!


	14. Face to Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonard finally sees John again, even speaks with him.
> 
> He comes away with more questions than answers.

Leonard could swear his heart had stopped the moment John set foot on the _Enterprise_ , like there was some invisible string between them twitching and tugging at whatever part of his heart he had given away.

Sheer fancy, of course. He knew John was aboard ship because Jim had called for two security details and ordered personnel to the brig, among them one Leonard McCoy. For one precious minute he had hesitated, hidden in his office, pole-axed halfway through another restless turn around the room. Report to the brig. Report to the brig and face Harrison; with Jim and Spock both there, he couldn't afford to lose his composure again. When his minute was up, Leonard calmly gathered his kit and slid a clinical mask in place. If Jim could manage this, so could he.

All eyes turned to watch him as he strode out of medbay, everyone pausing in their work despite the risk of catching the sharp side of his tongue. Lost in his thoughts, Leonard couldn't be bothered to notice; he walked out with shoulders back and head held high, every inch the chief medical officer. He knew they would talk once the doors slid shut behind him, but the only opinions that mattered to him were that of his captain and friends. Sure enough he could barely make out the murmur of conversation behind him, but his mind was already far ahead in the brig.

"Doctor McCoy." Spock was the first to greet him, adjusting his steps unconsciously to sync with Leonard's own. "Are you certain you are prepared to meet Commander Harrison?"

Commander Harrison. That was easy to forget; both of them had kept their work and domestic life separate by some silently negotiated agreement. Somehow John had worked his way up to commander with nary a hint of what he had planned for Starfleet. He had been blind, but clearly so had Harrison's superiors. Cold comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

"I brought all my gear."

"That's not what he meant." Jim cut in, in no mood for McCoy's deliberate evasions. His fist still ached from landing a blow to John's too-perfect face. He understood now why Bones hadn't wanted to heal his own injuries; there was no excuse for battering a prisoner that had surrendered no matter how false that surrender felt. John had singlehandedly taken out all those Klingons as effortlessly as if it had been sparring practice; it hadn't cost him any effort to speak afterward, no trace of sweat on his brow. And his eyes… Jim knew victory when he saw it; there had been neither remorse nor defeat in that level gaze.

Once again he had played into Harrison's hands. Just like Bones, just like Marcus, all of them puppets dancing on John Harrison's strings. It was infuriating.

"To paraphrase something the Vulcan once said to me, would you be happy if I cried it out?"

Spock raised a slightly offended brow, but conceded the point with a dip of his chin. Jim took the words at face value, impressed that Leonard could muster his old bravado as every footstep brought him closer to the last man in the universe he wanted to see. That image didn't falter even when they paused before the final door; Bones even gave an impatient huff, waiting for Jim to finally lead them into the brig. He wasn't feeling half so composed, but having his closest friends at his side gave Jim some of the confidence that had disappeared when John had made it abundantly clear he was boarding the Enterprise of his own will.

"Can't afford to. We're sitting ducks in Klingon territory; Chekov says it'll take him the better part of a day to figure out what went sideways."

"Told you those torpedoes were a bad idea. So did Scotty." Leonard gruffed, but Jim sensed his distraction; the words sounded more like a rehearsed message than an I-told-you-so.

He was marching in to meet the bastard that had killed Chris Pike, but Bones was seeing his former lover face to face for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

"We'll be all right."

"Hope so." Leonard's lips twisted, a rough swallow punctuating his words. The enormous door that guarded the brig loomed before them, and even Jim's steps stuttered to a halt as they reached it.

"Captain?" Naturally Spock was the only one of their number to be completely unaffected. He eyed them like they had lost their minds somewhere between the bridge and here; both Humans had to concede it wasn't far off the mark. The door might as well have been the gate to hell.

"Let's go." Jim imbued his voice with every ounce of confident command he could muster, pleased when Bones automatically fell into step beside him with no more than an indrawn breath. Spock nodded, oblivious to the strange interplay between his crewmates.

 

 

 

Leonard had visited the brig on occasion; more often than not his patients came to him, but every so often he found himself here tending to a crewmember or captive. The Enterprise didn't host many of the latter, and never for very long. Somehow he had never noticed how stark the area was: white everywhere, unblemished and untouched. A man could easily go mad in this place, locked away without any sort of stimulation or anything to relieve the bright sameness closing him in on every side. Even the guard at his post stared fixedly at the gunmetal gray of his desk.

Jim dismissed him with a cursory nod and a soft word. The man beat feet without once turning back to look at the prisoner, and Leonard was ashamed at how relieved he felt that there would be one less member of the audience for his impending melt down. He wanted to lean on Jim, fist his hand in the gold uniform and hold himself up before his knees buckled from the strain of making him stand so tall. Neither of them was ready for that yet- Jim still seemed fragile and overwrought, like he might shatter if someone breathed too hard on him. His eyes told a different story, hard as diamond and twice as cold as the snow on Delta Vega.

Even Spock seemed stiffer, shoulders pinned and chin held defensively high, dark eyes taking in the room swiftly and thoroughly. The healthy green tinge that normally colored his cheekbones was bleached white with stress, and his hands were clasped at his sides, the better to hide the involuntary twitching of his fingers. Jim said he had lived Pike's death as it happened, had effectively breathed his last as surely as if he had been the one dying amid the chaos. He was not so composed as he pretended, but none of them were.

Leonard pried his eyes away from them, forcing himself to face the cell directly before them. For a moment it seemed as though John stood free before him, no shield to keep him from reaching out and touching. His breath came quick and fast, heart racing even as the blood drained from his head to leave him dizzy and unbalanced.

All the while John watched, unmoved and implacable yet devouring the sight of him like a starved man would a banquet. Leonard's teeth clenched, biting back a furious _How dare you?_ How dare this impostor look at him the same way he always had? How dare he pretend Leonard McCoy was still or ever had been important to him? Pretend that he was happy to see his captor, that the subtle crack in his composure as he noticed the fatigue weighting Len's every footstep was more than a damned mask?

 _God damn you to hell._ The words caught in his throat and nearly choked him with their need to be said, but he locked them behind his clenched teeth and kept walking, hardly noticing when Jim's hand reached for his uniform instead. At least until he saw John's eyes flick at the motion, narrowing in displeasure.

"How fucking dare you." Leonard hissed, barely above a whisper because the words would not leave him alone until they escaped him at last. Jim's grip tightened, then released, a mute warning not to give their prisoner the satisfaction.

Too late. John had always been good at reading him; he hadn't needed to trace Leonard's lips to see the threat blazing at him from normally soft hazel eyes.

The fury pumping through his veins was as much for Harrison as himself. Yes, John had killed too many, had carried his plans with willful disregard for the man he claimed to… what? Love? It seemed like a bloodless, common word even in his thoughts. But in the end Leonard knew he was also a traitor, because as soon as he had laid eyes on John's face he had felt that awful stab of gratitude and heart-wrenching gladness. He was glad John was alive, and while he would testify at Harrison's trial, he couldn't pretend it was only because a murderer was going to face justice.

Somehow he had become so twisted up inside that he still cared. Leonard wanted to know why, worse- he wanted to pretend there was any explanation that could make him forgive it. No wonder Jim couldn't trust him, no wonder he eyed him like he might snap at any moment. Jim had known him so long it was only to be expected that he would sense the rotten core in him, even if Leonard's conscience was apparently too broken to recognize its own betrayal.

They had stopped, and somehow he wasn't breaking down on the spot. He was already parsing through what Jim needed, weighing it against what he needed to do.

John hated doctors, hated the feeling of being watched, prodded and maneuvered and sliced apart. They had never really spoken about it, something in his lover's demeanor always warning Len that was a topic broached at his own peril. Nevertheless, he knew it.

He had always taken care to scrub the cloying smell of disinfectant from his skin, seeing the way John barely kept his nose from wrinkling in disgust when he caught it. His scrubs had discretely made their way from a cabinet in the apartment to his locker on campus after the side-eyed glances John flashed him when he had thought Leonard wouldn't see. He had never found it in himself to tease and taunt the same way he did with Jim-threatening full workups and extra appointments. For John routine exams had been trying- traumatic even. Leonard had more than once considered requesting access to Harrison's file to see if he couldn't figure out who the hell had so mistreated him that the memories followed him for so long.

Even now Leonard couldn't bring it upon himself to inflict that sort of fear. Voice firm enough to brook no argument yet gentle as any he had ever used with a skittish patient, Leonard explained what he intended: "Hold out your arm, I'm going to draw blood."

Uncertainty was the root of most irrational fears, he had found, though all things considered John had every reason to feel uncertain about his treatment this time. It stung to think that anyone might expect him to use his position and take his vengeance here and now. Leonard met him stare for stare, inviting John to read his eyes and know that he would keep his oath to do no harm. At least in his capacity as a doctor; as an ex- _something_ , the jury was still out.

John's eyes roamed over his face, taking in the strain that showed itself around the slash of his mouth, the lines carved between Leonard's brows that threatened to etch themselves there permanently. He was pale as his companions beneath his tan, the circles under his eyes shadowed and so sunken they made his face seem skeletal. He had never looked so weak and weary before; all of John's protective instincts surged to the fore- he wanted to drag Leonard into the cell, raise the shields against the world outside and promise that everything was going according to plan. All would be well in the end, and in time Leonard would understand what he had done and why, wanted to swear they would only have peace from now on.

But his work wasn't done; he couldn't sincerely offer those oaths yet, and Leonard didn't know him well enough to believe them anyway.

Leonard didn't know it yet, but they stood on new ground now. John Harrison might as well have perished in the hail of missile fire the Enterprise's acting captain had promised- Khan Noonien Singh had taken his place.

He had considered offering his bare arm, allowing his Designated a few hours more to adjust to a world in constant flux but then James Kirk had caught Leonard's arm and the surge of jealousy and possessiveness had nearly been enough to shatter his guarded, neutral expression. If he did not act now Kirk would hide Leonard from him, and uncertain as he was Leonard would allow it. Khan read the struggle in his eyes, the guilt and shame and questions upon questions. No captain would put one of his finest officers through such a trial on a vital mission like this.

Which meant he had to forcibly pry the choice from Kirk's hands and offer it to Leonard.

"Your arm, please." Leonard repeated, patiently inexorable.

Keeping his wrist concealed with his other arm, Khan rolled his sleeve back neatly and clenched his fist before sliding it through the port. He saw the moment they registered that he had a Designation. Saw the naked confusion reflected in Leonard's eyes, the last of his trust smashing into innumerable pieces as he saw a name where none had been all the times they were together. Jocelyn's desertion was reflected in his minute wince, years of unease and isolation. He was drawing blood before his eyes began to trace the letters again and again as he struggled to be sure his sanity wasn't finally cracking under unimaginable strain.

Kirk swayed as though recovering from a blow, Spock's lips parting in shock. Khan saw this peripherally, all his attention focused on the only man in the room that mattered for his own sake.

"That isn't-No."

Leonard shoved the vial of blood into Jim's hands, fist scrabbling with the uncooperative material of his uniform to yank it back and stare at the name emblazoned across his skin: Khan Noonien Singh.

The wave of satisfaction was overwhelming. Leonard's wrist was bare so that all the world would know whom he belonged to; he could not keep the secret from his captain or the crew, and was too proud to cower from it himself. It took a few seconds, but Khan could see him putting the pieces together. Leonard was a man of keen understanding, and was quickly assembling every clue to paint a very telling portrait.

"You're-"

" _Khan_." He hadn't expected his own name to taste so sweet, neither the rush of emotion it sent through his veins. His skin had been stretched too tight- Khan had been too much for his frail cover of John Harrison to subsume completely. For the first time in far too long he finally felt comfortable again, freed of shackles he had willingly donned that had chafed far more than he realized.

Khan marveled that he had ever had the self-discipline to so completely act the part of John Harrison with Leonard, and hadn't realized how taxing the effort had been. Now he needed to begin the work of winning his beloved once again, this time with no pretense between them.

"Jim." The first name from Leonard's mouth wasn't his own, and Khan clenched his teeth with annoyance. It felt as though he had waited lifetimes to hear Leonard address him by his rightful name, but they were scrabbling for purchase once more, and Khan could see the strain of it on their faces.

"Go." Kirk said, not understanding the frozen look on Leonard's face. Khan had seen the expression before on the faces of men that hadn't yet realized they were dead even as their hands clutched at the mortal wound. Nearly all of them fought like madmen then, before the agony took them.

Leonard tensed, not about to disobey his captain before a man he falsely believed was his enemy but plainly unwilling to leave before he had answers. Some unspoken communication passed between them, Kirk's expression turning dark while Leonard pleaded with his eyes. The captain himself would not come to the brig unless he himself had pressing questions, and from all Leonard had told him of James Kirk, Khan could not reconcile the man that had struck him planet-side with the hero Leonard spoke of.

Kirk's business with him was intimate and personal. However Leonard's was more so, and Khan was counting on all their years of friendship to allow him the few minutes they needed to speak again.

"Spock." The name grated in Kirk's throat, his body turning clumsily and only with great effort. It cost him a great deal of pride and demanded still more courage for Kirk to turn his back on the cell and his friend. "Five minutes and we're coming back in."

Khan sensed the last words had been for his benefit, both a threat to him and a lifeline for Leonard.

"How did you do that?" Leonard's foot tapped against the floor, stilled as he got himself under control again. "What the hell game are you playing now?"

The opening was still there; Khan slid his arm through it again, breath shuddering out of him quietly as Leonard grasped his wrist, turning it this way and that. His fingers drifted over the runes, eyes seeking any sign of alteration. "There was nothing here before. There was nothing here." He didn't want to believe, but the evidence before him was compelling.

"What are you up to?" Khan was disappointed when he let go and stepped back, already missing the contact. This marked the first time Leonard had ever traced his Designation, ever seen him for who and what he was.

"It is not a game, Leonard-"

"I know that. The stakes are too damn high! The body count already…" Leonard swallowed. "You beamed from Earth to Kronos only to let Jim haul you here? You roll your sleeve up and show me a magician's trick, stand there watching so smugly while we dance to your sick tune. So what is it this time, hm? You trying to separate me from Jim? Sow some distrust in this crew?"

"There is no trick. Your captain has offered me an opportunity I thought could never come." He paused to swallow tightly. Seventy-two torpedoes, and in them every member of his crew he had thought lost. The rush of joy and new determination that had filled him at that unthinking threat had been savage in its intensity. Kirk had marveled that he had slain the small troop of Klingons so quickly, but even had they been thrice that number he would not have hesitated to attack. Not when it seemed that fate had offered him a chance to take everything that was his due.

"And my plan changed. We are not dancing to _my_ tune, but Marcus'."

Leonard was unconvinced, or at least he wanted to be, but all he heard in Khan's voice was plain and unvarnished truth. His face crumpled, lines of anger and sorrow etched deep while his muscles twitched with the effort of holding his ground. Khan watched, unable to maintain any pretense of impassivity; never had Leonard looked so weary and old, so utterly defeated. He could not disclaim his part in that; vengeance came at a hefty price, and some part of him nearly regretted what he had done.

When Marcus had discovered his family, when he had assured Khan that he was the last of his kind and cruelly suggested that on a whim he could just as easily rob him of his Designated, his path had become clear. For weeks he had clung to Leonard, never letting him stray out of sight for too long, keeping him safe within the walls of their apartment whenever he could and keeping a careful accounting of his whereabouts when he couldn't. Marcus had not hesitated to end seventy-two lives for no better reason than because his pet had dared to attempt smuggling them to safety. When would he justify killing Leonard? Perhaps when John Harrison could no longer improve his weapons, perhaps because of a stray word or too heated glance.

Marcus was a rabid dog, and like any other rabid beast he needed to be put down. He and the poisonous pit that was Section 31.

Leonard couldn't know that. His conscience was paining him even now; if he even suspected that his very existence had been the final catalyst even Khan could not predict what he would do. In time the truth would come out, but with so much else burdening him, Khan chose to conceal it for the present.

 

 

"Khan Noonien Singh." Leonard breathed, startling himself. The name had slipped from his thoughts and out his lips before he knew what was happening, but it was impossible to miss the way the man perked up to hear it.

This wasn't a trick, he knew it. That still didn't answer the question of who Khan was, who Harrison had been, why he spoke of Marcus like he was the mastermind behind the chaos.

John… _Khan_ was watching him with a peculiar mixture of concern, satisfaction and eagerness. It was an expression he recognized from their time together, but the man that wore it was nothing like the one he had loved.

Had he ever loved John? Had it ever been his choice or had it been his Designation working against him, all his feelings no more than the instincts of one half of a Designated pair? Leonard recoiled from the idea. For years he had told everyone with his words and actions that their destiny was a choice that couldn't be decided by a name on their skin. Yet Jocelyn had left him as soon as she found the man who matched her.

Leonard McCoy had fallen in love with the man that bore his name though he did not know it. Even now he was drawn to him, even now he wanted to see his name on Khan's skin to be sure it hadn't vanished. He nearly reached for his own sleeve before he caught himself; he bore this man's name, this murderer's name, on his own skin. If Designations were meant to match two people that complemented each other perfectly, then somehow the universe had fucked up, playing yet another game at Leonard McCoy's expense.

"You knew I was your Designated the whole time we were together."

"I sought you out." Khan confirmed.

"You kept me like a pet."

"I needed you. You were not my pet, Leonard McCoy, you are my Designated and I will keep you however I must."

Leonard's eyes shot up to Khan's own, his breath stopping, heart thumping almost painfully. Khan's voice was sincere, his gaze intense and fixed on Leonard's own with no attempt to hide the high emotion in them.

"I don't understand." He didn't. He didn't understand a damn thing, they might as well have been speaking two separate languages for all the sense Khan was making. There were too many missing pieces- if John Harrison was a fabrication, then who the hell was this Khan Noonien Singh? Why reveal himself now? Dozens of questions and the answers he was hearing made no sense. It felt like a secret message he needed to decode, only he was missing the vital key.

"Who the hell are you?" Because the only answers he was coming up with made no sense.

Behind them the door to the brig hissed open once more, Jim and Spock come to his rescue as promised. Leonard didn't want to see them; he needed a few minutes more, but Jim's eyes said he would not be dismissed. Whatever mercy he had in him had been stretched to its breaking point, nearly all of it used up in giving his friend those precious minutes alone he had needed to make any sense of his circumstances. The truth was no clearer now than it had been five minutes ago, but at least he finally knew the question he needed to ask.

"You all right, Bones?" Jim stalked to his side, never taking his eyes from their prisoner.

"Fine." He was surprised to find that it was at least half the truth. The mystery of Khan Noonien Singh gave him something to cling to, a mystery to tease apart and an answer to all the questions he'd had as a young boy whose Designation had kept so many secrets from him. And Leonard had learned at least one valuable thing: whatever else was between them, and however he chose to cope with it, this man's feelings for him had not been a part of John Harrison but of himself. His soul mate was a killer, a traitor, and a consummate liar, but one that still loved him. One that thought that in spite of all that, Leonard would allow himself to be kept.

He hadn't given voice to even half the things he had wanted to say, but before he dared breathe another word the first order of business was figuring out who the hell he was dealing with and what the stakes were.

"I need to analyze that sample, captain."

"Get back to me with the results as soon as you have them."

Leonard murmured an acknowledgment as he slipped out, feeling Khan's eyes boring into him until the door slid shut behind him at last. He hoped Jim could find some answers for him, hoped he would share them willingly. If not… well, he hadn't lied when he said the blood needed to be processed, but now he had a name to work with too. As soon as the computer began its work he could look into Khan Noonien Singh, compare what he found to the markers in the blood sample.

Before they met again Leonard swore he would know as much about his Designated as the man already knew about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's a day early! And a whole lot shorter than a usual chapter, but given the sheer amount going on next chapter I thought it would be nice to just let Leonard and Khan have their reunion in peace. For now.
> 
> I know I'm taking some liberties with canon here (I have already taken so many), but Jim says in "Space Seed" that records from the Eugenics War are pretty vague so I don't think it's out of the realm of possibility that Leonard wouldn't know much about Khan, or wouldn't make the jump to a name that barely survived history.
> 
> That leap of faith will come a little bit later. ;P

**Author's Note:**

> I went ahead and posted another fic, though to be fair I was already working on it and this is more for accountability's sake. For the first five weeks, this one is guaranteed updates as I only need to make a few changes and edit previously written material. by then I should be caught up enough to keep posting.
> 
> And for the record, all other Star Trek fics will be updated this coming week. :)


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